There are at least four layers of wallpaper on the living room ceiling. Cracks threatening to split it inch their way over, and several bubbles have formed at the curve. I'm not going to touch it.
In an old house, you pick your battles wisely. You decide what you spackle and what you reinforce. Especially if you know you won't grow old in it, you change colors and pretend the new layer will hold.
The bathroom floor is leaking upward. The vinyl tile is somehow swelling--off and on--and spills over a seam when you rise to flush. I don't want to touch it.
I wish I could say better for myself, but fudge is easy and quinoa is hard.
