This week I painted a room. My spare room, to be precise. The "office". That's the new colour, there. On the left. It was a soft mint green. Now it is a sort of sludgy red (sorry - "Tuscan terracotta").
As tasks go, it was pretty satisfying. It had a beginning, a middle and an end. I worked for long stints and had brief breaks. I was careful in my approach: I watched video tutorials to get it right, and took great pleasure in the skill of the thing - brushwork, the right pressure to apply to a roller, the amount of paint to coat it in.
At no point did I draw a chart, or start a spreadsheet, or make a list. Halfway through there was no crisis of faith. There was lunch.
The task had a clear aim: get it done by the end of Sunday, so that I could finally move my furniture back in, so that I could sort my desk out, SO THAT I could get back to writing. This is what's holding me back, I thought. The room. Its lack of colour. The mess. That.
And now it is done, so I have no excuse. This is the last of the "no writing this week" weeknote. I have to face my notebooks and empty pages and get back to where I was.
Word count this week: 0 First draft: 127,812