Hackles go up on page 1: “my work has received international acclaim”. Oh no, don’t be that guy, Piers. This is not a good start – by page 8 I’m bored and by page 13 I’m having conversations on the side with myself. Gag reflex kicks in at page 15: invented people like “Tom” and “Mary” arrive for story examples.

“Impulsive people find it difficult to plan work ahead of time and even after they start, they are easily distracted. Procrastination inevitably follows” (page 14).

I think that’s the thesis of my entire blog? More impulsive sorts will use task-related anxiety to procrastinate, rather than taking it as a clue to get an early start (page 13). Uh huh…. Want some data with that?

Hours per day spent watching TV (page 69):

• 4.7 (U.S.)
• 3.3 (Canada)

Hours per day spent reading:

• 24 minutes (international average). He doesn’t specify but I presume this means reading books specifically.

I don’t care about research in the field of procrastination. Do you? If so: Piers covers procrastination psychology, its evotionary background and 3 main types – procrastination because you expect failure, because you won’t enjoy or don’t value the task, and because you handle time only in the short term with no acknowledgment of how long a thing should take. Then we learn that distractions are on the rise and that Facebook presents considerable temptation for procrastinators.

“[I]dentify distractions and cleanse their accompanying clues” (page 179).

This is the tip we’ve all been waiting for: turn off your email auto-alert. He claims this will give you back a month of productive time per year. The end comes as a surprise, and you’ll be glad: 28% of the book is bibliography and indices.

On clutter, we agree: time spent looking for things increases the chances that “some tangential tidbit will distract you” (page 180). But I’d already solved that, long before the book – Threw out most everything in our apartment. Deleted all but a handful of blogs and bookmarks. Stopped using Facebook. These tips? I give you them for free.

 Covers Canada? We got mentioned in the TV statistics?

1 reason to read it? I prefer Dave Navarro’s More Time Now - it’s free – and far superior.

Conclusion: I know Oprah is pretty popular… and Dr. Phil is pretty rich… but this isn’t my style. The book‘s neither self-help, nor a textbook. Possibly, the title is a sneaky and appealing trick.

Staging and five-star polish? I’m trying to care. We’ll need cushions.

Have never used a sewing machine before, but how hard can it be? Let’s pin begin.

This is one of those “announce to the world you’re running a marathon so you go out and buy running shoes” things.

By Monday, I will not fear the word bobbin. How are you planning to spend a weekend that may or may not look like this?

Boom time? Oh, I think so. It has a pulley system, people. Like it’s a piece of engineering. (Everyone tell Paolo we so obviously need another, a Mrs for Mr. Jump Start).

The middle two trays are human sustenance, and the outer two are bait. Bait? Yes.

• Scented sweet peas.
• Scented stock.
• Scented alyssum.

See where I’m going? All are appropriate for containers. All are contractually bound to make our balcony look nice, smell great and hook our buyers – line and sinker, sucker. Look how badly this one wants it:

As for the tomatoes, I think I overcommitted with nine(ty). Six is a comfortable number.

Determined to do less fiddling in the garden this year – having a grow light and a floor of “leave and forget” plants is far, far superior to previous years –

“Paolo! It’s sunny! Grab the tomatoes! Run! To the window!!!”

15 minutes later…

“Paolo! The tomatoes musn’t have it all! Switch! The snapdragons need the window now.”

Oh, you thought I was kidding. Nope. Look at those little losers. Worrying realisation for the perpetually cheap: you get what you pay for. Still, in hopes that one day I’ll have rugs – not plants – on my floor… this is big step in the right direction. Let’s not tell people about this.

Who’s growing what, who likes fancy toys on pulley systems and who thinks drugging potential buyers with heady floral scents is basically genius?

Same water pressure, same soap, and yet only the refinished, white version can make you feel clean. Obviously this Instant Results project was my favourite of the entire renovation – though it had an unfunny start (details here).

Today, the happy ending. Since both tub and tile have been refinished bright white, you can see the pattern of the tile much more clearly. I prefer that little bit of quirk over plain tile, and only just noticed that it matches the shower head.

What else is funny? Laugh at the shower curtain we bought without ever noticing its pattern:

That was an accident. Deb, I read your decorating book (and the other one) – so I knew how clever it would be to replicate patterns in big and small versions. What a pain, though! How much hunting that would take. Saturdays in Ikea are bad enough – so we grabbed the first “yea that’ll do” and ran.

Searching for replication is a waste of time, Deb, because the universe did it for me.

Our accidentally matching curtain landed in the blue bag – Deb’s present to the design-dense. We only noticed our stupid, stupid luck after hanging it up. (I ironed it… Paolo’s concerned I’m becoming my grandmother. Is that reasonable or not?)

Here’s the refinished tub. Previously the left corner was chipped and rusting – now it’s perfect. Mr. Spray Man told us to wean ourselves off Magic Erasers, but it’s been an easy divorce.

All sealed and secure it’s easier to clean than ever. The gift that keeps giving: an outsourced, no-effort project that takes less effort to clean. Guys, I might never leave this apartment. It’s just so shiny.

In other news about sitting somewhere shiny and sweet – I noticed yesterday that my  renovating eBook was #25 on Amazon UK’s Kindle DIY list.

That was cool enough, until I saw the company it was keeping – garden sheds and grown-up cider? That book knows where we’re headed! Thank you so much for putting it there, I really appreciate it.

Off to truly emulate my Nana: eleven o’clock means tea and a biscuit….

Friends got in on the action, too, providing about as much help as you’d imagine a multiplying group of teenagers would. These nights were more about the outfits to be made from poly + painters’ tape, and the rude words you could write in primer on a living room wall.

Well, imagine my surprise when this picture surfaced from the back of a shoebox:

That’s me, teenage version. That’s what I thought of the previous wall colour. And that’s ugly, pre-destined. Whaaaaaat!

(Stranger still? Ben Stiller, William H. Macy & Hank Azaria are in this video… Whaaaaaat!)

Whether moving and unpacking, rearranging or renovating, almost all “progress” involves turning our hallway into a temporary jungle gym. Some typical scenes?

1. Boxes.

2. Ikea awaiting assembly.

3. Unwieldy power tools.

4. A bag of straw.

I’ve tripped over this stuff in broad daylight (or as broad as it gets in a windlowless hallway) – so WHAT IF?

One night, while thinking the deep thoughts possible only while brushing one’s teeth, I considered the obstacle course we regularly made of our only emergency exit route. An unfunny picture if we had to manoeuvre around it, quickly, in pitch black, possibly half-asleep or half-drunk. Though we have balcony access, it’s a long drop to ground level. I could try jumping, Twilight style, to the closest tree (but I’d rather not).

Since then, we’ve made it a nightly routine to clear our hallway completely – even throwing stray shoes into the laundry room. I make sure our keys and mobiles are in their normal place as well. My brother once lived in an apartment building that caught fire and it was a lightning-quick bound-out-of-bed-and-grab-shoes that kept him safe. Certainly these latter precautions meant we were first outside during pre-dawn false alarms at previous apartments.

So that’s our routine – in fact, our only routine. My dad would be thrilled if I added please “completely memorize how many doors, turns and steps to your closest (and second closest) fire escape”. And he’d probably buy me a present if I said “and always do this first thing when checking into a hotel”.

Me? After pushing the test button just now, and jumping out of my skin at the satisfactory result, I’m going to smugly ask – “how’s your smoke detector?”

And then I’ll say, rather cuttingly, “You mean you’ve only got just one?”

More on general fire safety and related household precaution:

• Fire Prevention Canada
• Young House Love on fire safety

Any routines or tips of your own?

Occupy my twiddling green-ish thumbs until this:

Source: The Telegraph

It’s one thing to house-hunt and hope to find a big outdoor space. Quite another to demand that it’s south-facing. Who knew plant-loving people with worm composters could be so high-strung?

Despite the interior’s previous transgressions – our balcony? It’s killer, and we know we’re lucky for it. You can fix an ugly bathroom – you can’t tack on a bigger, better outside. Most balconies in our bracket are tiny things – postage stamps. Unless they have a view, they’re more likely used as bike and snowboard storage.

I want a balcony so enchanting that grown men will weep.

Source: Flickr via Life on the Balcony

So, Agent Awesome, make that 1x extra ugly apartment, and magic-up yet another large balcony or patio. Tall order? I’m just getting started.

• It has to be south-facing. Has to be. Do you want the blood of three dead hostas and a lavender bush on your hands?
• In addition to sufficient space for an entire plant factory, we need outdoor living space. Just for us? No. Add a puppy playground.
• Too soon to ask for a view? Fine, but don’t forget room for a hammock.

Do your job properly, and we’ll throw you a garden party – double doses of strawberries and cream.

As for our current reality? Seedlings – stand by! Gather your strength!

Prepare to shock and awe.

This is that door – the one she pounds her fists against, screaming in vain. She’s not going anywhere.

Peek through here and there’s a Scream mask staring back.

Why, it’s our front door.

Not a punch of colour, but something more violent still. This is a murder of colour – decades decayed.

Apartment dwellers have little control over their curb appeal but, once inside, the only means of exit should not look this sinister.

Slasher movie crime scene: seeks remedy. We set to work with white paint – international decorating code for ‘Scary Has Surrendered, guests now free to leave as and when they choose’.

The hinges were tricky – you can’t take off an apartment’s front door – even for a sneaky spray paint. The job, done in situ, receives a B+ grade from its biased creator.

Over six months we dispatched the carpet and sucker-punched mustard (because fair’s fair). By the time we added baseboard and surrounding trim it was our biggest exorcism to date. And yet, Friendly Front Door looked a little naked. She’d learned to behave – open and shut without scaring visitors – but she was jealous of the toilet. She, too, wanted to leave a lasting impression.

Mummy to the rescue! Again! She’d heard that Friendly Front Door wanted panels. And, as FFD had asked nicely for a very inexpensive present ($10, tops?), we were happy to oblige.

1. Photoshopping panels. I was warned that we could lose this game in proportions. As a right-brain solution to a left-brain problem, I took a panelled door photo from a home improvement site and settled into Photoshop. Using logic that I barely remember, I used the rulers and blue guide lines to transpose measurements to our door’s size.

2. Date Night with a door. Then, in an exercise guaranteed to make anyone’s Friday night, I measured my little heart out – eventually drawing neat rectangles on the door with a level and a pencil. To better gauge these painful proportions from a distance, I later decided to outline the planned rectangles in green painters’ tape. Like I said, an epic Friday night.

3. Killing off the little ones. Realising that four boxes would be far easier than six – the top small squares were swallowed into a lazier plan. Eventually Paolo cut the trim to size and we tacked and glued them in place just like the nice man said. Things were caulked and painted – job done.

Ever seen such a sweetie treatie? She’ll let you leave – no questions asked. But she might want your wallet.

toaster oven. Ah-ha! You all suspected we ran away and sold in secret – you deserved a lie of a title.

Just imagine an apartment sale requiring not one panicked, published hyperventilation or over-imaginative envisioning of prospective buyers’ germs. Just think that Ugly Baby II would fall out of the sky without a word of pissed-off house hunting. Riiiight.

Nope, no magical powers. You’ve figured out the less dramatic explanation: Life as a robot. Thought trying to write 108 pages in 2 weeks was a good idea. (Which if you like a boy delivering coffee to you on the hour, every hour, it kind of is). Last Friday afternoon I had claws and double vision. I can type again – so let’s go!

First things first:

• Sales status: Motivation gestation, happening soon. Ejection of boxy toaster oven equals our unofficial first step: this time, we’ll do it properly.
• Spring watch: Germination Station underway, rhubarb kicking ass.
• Dog acquisition: No updates. See below, dog-shaped hole in my life.

Edging more and more towards “selling soon is probably a good idea”, I thought I’d start putting in a little extra effort – stage this sucker? Well that’s about to have all sorts of interesting consequences:

• We have to buy more joint compound? And white paint?
• Picture frames don’t fill themselves?
• And, I’m turning into my grandmother?

Yep – Running out of reasons to avoid the job-list I’ve ignored since last summer.

Come on, Ugly Baby, let’s pick you out a party dress and show these fine people your moves. (Who’s going to distract it while we sneak out and hunt its replacement?)

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Sold sign found here via Flickr Creative Commons. Dog drawing found here.

1. First – see all the before/after photos with tons of project details
2. Then – put jaw on floor to see our ugly bathroom (since killed)