When Creativity Gets Dangerous

So yesterday I put down on my to-do list "Clean, organize and beautify office." Our office is located under the basement steps and is all of 7x8 feet. The word "office" is a misnomer, in fact; it's more of a catch-all junk room that I get bi-annual urges to scrapbook in, but only annual urges to clean. Good thing it has a door.

I only meant to tidy it up and get rid of some clutter, file a few misplaced photos and papers, run the vacuum, dust the only three pieces of furniture that're in there, and hang a picture. But then the Mouse/Cookie syndrome took over. I pulled out everything I could and deposited it into the open area just outside the office door. Then I moved the heavy glass scrapbook table as far as I could to vacuum behind. But instead of grabbing the vacuum, I decided to get the leftover bathroom paint which I love...as well as the roller and dropcloth and...by the time I was done, I had painted one entire wall. An accent wall for now, which I'll live with and decide if I want the whole room that color.

While the paint dried, I played around with a long piece of deep burnt-orange-red fabric. Topper for the sliding glass doors? Several new pillows? A skirt? Lost in thought, I put it away.

After painting, I thought I'd repurpose the two drawers from my broken craft storage unit. They will make a fine pair of flower planters. I then decided to weed the gardens and make a Bouquet in Orange. Tired and hot, I was tempted to sit down at the piano and put music to the theme of joy that was going through my head.

Thankfully I was arrested by this thought:

"Zo, the last time you were this creative in one day, you got pregnant."