I like to paint. At my California house, I'd painted every single interior and exterior surface at least once. Since I moved to Ithaca, my painting urge has been largely silenced by the fact that my house is painted fairly innocuous, tasteful shades of beige chosen by someone with better taste than me, and my experience painting the garage traumatized me. Nevertheless, I eventually started getting the urge. Innocuous beige is ok in most rooms, but I have different ideas for the bathrooms.
The downstairs bathroom is my first victim. Generic beige just didn't suit it. After somewhat less deliberation than usual (it's a lot easier to select a color for a room with no windows), I selected a mid-tone shade of plum and started painting.
After getting used to painting at my old house, it was a joy to paint the walls here. Even though I was doing semi-gloss in a dark color and didn't prime, it went on very smoothly and quickly and I probably could stop at one coat, if I were so inclined. Of course, I'm a little bit obsessive-compulsive, so I put on a second coat anyway. The bathroom is now the the same color as blueberry ice cream. It's a bit darker than I expected, but the room was cave-like even when it was beige. I may put a bigger light in over the mirror to brighten it up.
One reason I like to paint is that it requires just enough concentration to help me clear my mind of worries. I painted the exterior of my house after T broke up with me, and I found it very helpful. Unfortunately, as soon as I was done the layoff saga began. This time around, it was a distraction from brooding about cowdude and what to do there, but unfortunately it was a small job so it didn't give me enough of a break to be effective.