I bought a can of paint a couple of months ago to paint a bedroom. I picked the color splendor. I got up today, tidied spaces, got the paint out with brush, roller, step ladder.
I stirred the paint. I felt a lightness of being at the very light beige that greeted me. Happy day! But as I stirred, deep mustard and camel surfaced and I hesitated. This wasn't what I remembered it being. Since I owned it, I committed to move forward with it.
I cut in. It seemed a good bit lighter than the paint on the wall. It could work out.
"It dries darker," said my inner voice.
"Shut up," I said back.
Ran down to stick chicken nuggets in the oven for lunches.
Back to the room to see the paint beginning to dry.
Face palm moment.
I did this in the school room. It was nearly a similar story in the powder room. Despite wanting to change spaces in this house, some rooms refuse to change. Or else I secretly really liked the colors and subconsciously bought the same shades.
I stood there wondering if I should even bother. It was an eggshell over a flat, so that might help with brightening. And who knows the overall effect once the room was painted? There was a (slight) difference. At the very least, it would be freshened up. I kept going and did two walls. I'll do the other walls tomorrow because I have to move all the furniture to the other side.
I remember painting the living room (I think it was hush or frappe) and having second thoughts on it.
"Just finish it," Shane said. "If you hate it, you can paint it again later."
I remembered his voice as I finished up two walls today. It's only paint.
I love the color of our living room now, but at the time of seeing it over the old shade, I wasn't sure it would work out.
Distanced an hour from today's work, the difference is slight, but enough.