I've got another week before I go back to school so I am trying to finish as much painting of my new place as I can. I finished the hallway and after finally settling on some colors, began work on my bathroom. There is a divider of sorts; I think it was meant for trim that was to go around the middle of the room. I figured I could knock the top of the room out quickly enough. I got out my masking tape and got everything ready and finally began to paint.

I started with the roller to get the big parts out of the way, but I was done that rather quickly since there were few big parts-or parts big enough that I needed a roller for. That part wasn't so bad. When that was finished, it was time to get out the ol' paintbrush. I feel it important to mention that the walls I was working with are textured-nice and bumpy which means that it wasn't as simple as just slapping the paint on. There were lots of crevices and spots that needed another coat to really cover everything. Even so, I felt hopeful about being able to finish up the project somewhat easily.

As I was finishing up the last part of the largest piece, I started to notice my hands were becoming tired. The fatigue turned into cramping as I continued on in spite of my hands protesting. I started having less and less moments where I could hold the paintbrush in the usual way, involving my fingers and having more and more moments where I found myself needing to wrap my fist around the handle of the brush, much as a young child might. I tried alternating hands, which offered only slight relief. I pressed on anyway.

In the past couple of years, my body has gone through many unexpected changes which includes some nerve damage. My fine motor skills are where I've really noticed a change-my grip, arm strength and ability to hold things. My hands cramp much more easily, especially if I am doing something that involves holding something small and/or thin-like a paintbrush. While this doesn't always happen, as my symptoms come and go as they please, yesterday was certainly not one of their vacation days. I pressed on.

Now what the hell does this all have to do with getting lost in time? Pain can certainly alter one's experience of time, but that isn't the focus here. As I was struggling with my hands and pushing myself to complete this project, my mind started to shift. I was back in the houses I have lived in before, painting with no problem. My first room was all white, because I was afraid of color. White because I wasn't sure what color would come out if I let it. It seemed as though I had all the time in the world then. I am jerked back into the bathroom, my hands still hurting and my idiotic will keeping them moving, however slow the process has become. In the present, time no longer seems to wait for me, I no longer have "all the time in the world". I look at my hands and wonder how much time I have with them and what that time is going to be like. Ideas of the future begin to crowd out visions of the past. How many more bathrooms will I have a chance to paint? Will there be someone to help me? The future makes no promises and I wonder what actions will I have to pay the price for down the line. I begin to float from one memory to the next, like a bee from flower to flower, always trying to get more. I am in the past again. I go through the moments where I was offered hope and reassurance and then further back, to "before". I "wake up" and I am standing on my toilet painting my bathroom walls "pool side blue". The past is gone, the future doesn't exist and my hands hurt. I finish up, feeling as though I've been painting for a lifetime. I go to check a clock and see it's only been a few hours.