Still scraping away old paint and not sure if it's going to end soon. Every time I allow myself to truly believe we might be nearing the end, my eye falls on a bubble of paint so obvious that I wonder how I missed it, and upon picking it open I end up peeling away a patch of bad paint bigger than my butt.
So I spend this evening standing before the wall, letting my eye wander idly over the patchy paint, until I found a bubble. I'd scraped that until there was nothing left to scrap there, then I'd climb down from the ladder and stand before the wall, letting my eye wander again.
At about eight, our neighbor came home and suggested we could call it quits, or she could switch on her porch light so we could work until bed time. I knocked off. B followed me in ten minutes after.
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