The morning rays tore through flimsy metal blinds with ease illuminating the room with a hazy glow. I awaken in a stupor since I had before deemed it impossible to fall asleep with my arm wedged between my back and the back of a futon as well as having a left leg left buried under a pile of jam jars of various colours. Thankfully my arm had healed from yesterdays torture but only to be replaced by the other arm due to the awkward position I woke in 'so be it' I thought as I emerged from the den where my father was examining the room with glee with a taxidermist who is just a bit to into the embalming process looking for the best positions to start painting an applying the poly-filla. Surprised by my rather early awakening he asks with a hidden sarcastic tone "how was you're night"? In a desperate desire for cereal I try to cut the conversation short my mumbling "bed's too short". He peers quizzicallyinto the semi-lit hole of mine and replies with an undercurrent of face palm "you didn't unfurl the bed. Now really desperate for cereal I play the ignorance card and mutter "oh yeah" before skulking downstairs for the cheap own brand cereal in the cupboard.
Now with a fresh intake of assorted E-numbers I ready myself for the first task of the day: Moving the goddamn futon. Initial thoughts were that it was just to long to fit meaning I would have to sleep at an angle this time around. But no despite having my foot trapped by the insidious device it fitted with roughly half an inch left and about 2 above ground.
Now then back on topic today was effectively shinning this corpse of a room by peeling away the existing paint with what could only be described as a cannibalized hair dryer. and then peeling the skin off with a chisel. Great... was my first thought give a devise that could easily set the entire house on fire to someone who can burn custard and is the son of someone who can burn soup (I kid you not). As I began my father decided it best to remove the doors since it was best to show the world the destruction as well as exposing the guts the very innards of my childhood laid bear for me to look at remembering every forgotten toy every happy memory left oozing out into my short-term memory by removing the cupboard doors as well since they are "too precious to be painted over" so regardless of a mature and sensible paint job I'm still going to have circus style cupboards. uhh. by the end the day the wood was mainly burning with feelings of brief horror as a spark flits out of the barrel of the the cannibalized hair dryer and resting on the exposed wooden panels and the anxiety of seeing a trail of black smoke rising out of the woodwork. Fear notintrepid readers for paint is involved in the next chapter.