I was 29 years old and bought my first car in 1989. I did all the research and test driving required to make a responsible choice. (I did the same thing when I voted for the first time as well. I read everything I could regarding the candidates.) And when I drove the car out of the dealership parking lot, I knew we'd be friends for a very long time. I took such good care of her, I broke her in as the manual insisted as to not void the warranty. I had the oil changed every 3000 miles like a Swiss clock. And I parked her as far away from other vehicles as humanly possible and still be within a mile of my destination. I really didn't want to see her dented. And that went on til the first ding. After that, she was no longer precious, merely well loved. And very well used. And still very well cared for.
The girls I and spent a lot of hours tooling around in Alaska and Louisiana and Texas. Even Canada on the Top of the World Highway, a long stretch of miles that has a reputation of being hard on cars. Especially windshields. We made it there and back unscathed. But in the 12 years we owned her, she increasingly attracted shopping carts and doors that would wing open and whack her. Scratches and tree limbs, cats slept on her hood in cold weather and left paw swipes. And I'm glad that she stopped being precious quickly and became a utilitarian thing instead. A thing with a name, okay, but still a well-used thing.
I learned in grade school how motivating public humiliation can be. So in that frame of mind, I beat myself up for your reading pleasure a few hours ago and swiftly devoted the time between then and now into cleaning up that wreck of a room.
I knew I could not in any good conscience leave it in that state of disrepair. I could not think straight in there as well. I would stand there and consider what project to tackle next should be and the angel on my shoulder would say in the ear that still works, "Isn't the answer OBVIOUS to you, hmmmm?"
I was thinking QUILT project, not housework. But it really had gotten out of hand. So I got to it and here is the end result.
It's not perfect, but I don't aim for perfection. I don't think I can work in perfect any more than I would take a brand-new car over the Top of the World Highway. Such madness!