"I want paint to work as flesh." ~Lucian Freud

That seems obvious enough quoted from an artist who specializes in painting nudes. I was going to share some examples of his work, but they're mostly all naked people and I'm not exactly in the company of people who would appreciate accidentally glimpsing any of that as I work it into the post. Even if it is art, it's not their taste at all.

Speaking of painters (but of an entirely different variety), the house painters are dancing on my every last damn frayed fucking nerve. Yes, this is the company I am in and of which I speak. It is week two of house painting. They have completed four out of six rooms. These are not huge rooms, apart from the living room maybe. Yet, it takes them two days to complete one room. I realize they have to do multiple coats and everything, but... it took half a day for them to paint the freaking bathroom. I say they and them, because there are two of them. Between the two of them, they might just paint with the efficiency and urgency of a single person. Usually, it's easy to ignore them. I'm in the basement doing my thing online - whatever that happens to be - and they're upstairs somewhere watching the paint they just applied dry or something. I don't know. Maybe there's a lot more to painting interiors than I realize and I shouldn't be so critical. Or, maybe not. I'm thinking definitely not, but who knows? I don't. Anyway, yesterday and today it has been completely impossible to escape them because they're painting the kitchen, hallway, and the stairway leading down into the basement. Yesterday, I had places to be and they were gone when I came home. Today, I don't have anywhere to be. I did leave for two hours anyway. I spent a significant portion of that time smoking in a parking lot at a nearby strip mall. Did I mention that the house painters are the brother and nephew of my sister's grandfather? Probably not. I have no freaking clue how that blood relationship translates to my sister. I don't have that type of vocabulary. Let's try it anyway: one is my sister's granduncle and the other is her grandcousin or maybe cousin-uncle? I don't know. Whatever. They're related to her and - perhaps more importantly - to her grandparents and father. So, I can't smoke while they're here because it would be even worse than smoking in front of our shared grandparents. Which is why I've been standing around in parking lots smoking lately. The house painters are here from about 9am to about 3pm. That's a ridiculous amount of time to not be smoking at least once or twice. Also, they like to chat. It was obvious that at least the granduncle was the brother of my sister's grandfather by how much he likes to talk. About everything. At 9am. I don't want to talk about anything at 9am. I was as tolerable about it as possible. I can be really polite regardless of whether I want to be or not if the situation requires it. And, it did. I just try to avoid them now. I think he tried to talk to me again just now but I've got my headphones on, music blaring, and I'm completely focused on typing out this post. I saw shadows moving in my peripherals, though. I'm fairly certain that was him and that he was probably talking to me about something. If it were important at all, he probably would have moved into my direct line of sight on the other side of my laptop. So... every last damn frayed fucking nerve. Seriously. As least tomorrow I'll have orientation for the new job, so I won't have to deal with it. But, there's still today and the four hours or so of painting fun that remain.

I'd like to add "...and then I want that flesh to ball up into a fist and punch you in the face." to the title quote.