So I've spent the morning painting this piece of fake architectural salvage black. I got it for 8 dollars at Old Time Pottery, plus a 2 dollar can of rustoleum, versus the 65 dollars or more that the real thing costs at the Ivy Cottage or what have you. We've got a big space that needs filling in the dining room and we cannot afford real art yet, so we're going to use this for the time being.
I've been enjoying these minor home improvements immensely, and it's been a pleasure, watching our house take shape over time. It just makes me think, though, that what I really wish I could be when I grow up is an interior designer for poor young people. I'd like to do dorm rooms and first apartments. I'd like to remake bachelor pads and help with first homes. I'd like to be sent yard saling and flea marketing, I'd like to be buying fake architectural salvage in bulk. I mean, it's a silly dream, because poor young people inherently have no money to spend on interior design, but I'd love to be choosing fabric and sewing curtains, making pillows and planting things, to get to budget someone else's decorating money and indulge someone else's style. I love my home, but I hate when I see something wonderful and I think, well, it just doesn't go with the house. I'd love to think, but it would be perfect for insert name here.
But see, look what happens. You send me to Old Time Pottery and I come home with all these notions in my head.