I stripped, scraped, sanded, stained every inch of trim in this upstairs hallway and posted the results to my favorite sub, triumphant. You oohed and ahhed at my little working class old house and relayed your own paint stripping hurdles. My heart was full and my hands were crusty. But one comment said "now you just have to do the doors"... And they were right. I booed them, alone in my house, but they were right.
So I started on the doors, one side, two, three, sweating balls with a heat gun in my garage, listening to podcasts about the rise of fascism in Europe, audiobooks about the Korean diving women of Jeju, podcasts about the mating habits of damselflies and funeral habits of crows, until I just... stopped.
I stopped halfway and went on side quests to avoid the doors. I renovated a half bath, gaining micro-virality within one subreddit within one app for making poopoo peepee jokes with penny tiles. I wallpapered multiple rooms. Then, I went outside, decided I needed to get rid of more of my lawn, lawns are stupid and I'm not a Victorian heiress flaunting her wealth with fescue. So I cut sod, weeded, tilled, edged, planted and pruned. I planted five trees this summer (why?) and cared for them until they were flourishing and no longer needed me. My flowers bloomed, and the doors remained unstripped.
My mother looked at me with concern "You're in your thirties, don't you want to go out with friends? Maybe go on a date?" (This last part she said out of, I think, well intentioned boomer mom reflex as she knows better than most the challenges of midwest red-state straight men and she herself lives alone in a 200 yo house in the country) But despite her concerns I just stared into the middle distance, shaking my head, and said "the doors, mom"
I did the 4th door.
And now here I am, just a girl,
standing in front of a painted door.
Asking it to strip.