Working on progress

I have to say. I am tired. I am sore. I am sick of painting. I am sick of scrapping. Every nail I rip out I tell myself this will be the last. Until the next one of course. But man, it feels like we are getting worse. But it has to get worse to get better right?

RIGHT?

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. Or in this case, a sink at the end of the faucet. A flush at the end of the going. A shower at the end of the dust storm.

I need a shower.
I need a housecleaner.
I need a doormat.
I need a heating vent that actually makes it to upstairs.

Are my demands too high?

One day I am going to get a dishwasher and I am going to wash everyone of my dishes and I am going to love it. 

And then I am going to get tired of it and I am going to have Brad do the dishes.