I asked W about getting paint at cost, and he converted it into a trip to my shed to help me finish up the job. We were using leftover bits, all mixed together, and he was dubious. The color, he said, was the typical apartment oatmeal. And it was as lumpy as oatmeal. But, he got to work with the rollers, displaying the proper style (not just up and down) and telling me about his history as an expat painter in Canada.
I had asked that the fluorescent lights be removed: they are fine for a carpenter's shed, but not for a living space. But the new fixtures were still sitting on the counter, so I hauled in some lamps from the living room. They shed a mellow light that stopped around knee level. We moved them around as we worked, and eventually I tipped one over, to the destruction of the bulb within. Time to stop.
A few days later I came in to finish the job, clambering around on ladders to get the ceiling/wall edges and go down the peaked center. I don't do ladders, so I was clinging to molding and ledges with one hand and quiveringly applying paint with the other.
I think I prefer painting when I can't see what I'm doing.
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