
An artistic description as to why the years of accumulated acrylic paint stains and scratches atop my coffee table should be considered nothing but a work of art, continually failed in lessening the critique of concern and confusion from those who've had the privilege to rest their feet and drinks upon my couches one of a kind companion. As a result, a restoration was in need to finally put an end to the constant criticism, while renewing my credibility as meticulously anal retentive.
Unfortunately it wasn't until shortly after phase one of rehabilitation, when the thick cloud of dust and my runny nose subsided, I began to recognise that my eagerness to operate an electric sander heavily out weighed the repercussions involved in defacing a masterpiece.

Although it was to late to go back, the precautions unnoticed beforehand were there on the back of the sand paper all along. Which easily explains why the lack of a welders helmet, extra eye protection, surgical mask, pocketed apron, and rubber gloves resulted in the numerous doses of Visine and hocking the loogie of a lifetime.

Once the unintended wood particle high eventually vanished, I regained full use of my respiratory system and fall asleep. After a good nights sleep, and several dreams of being lost in a never ending forest, I gratefully awoke still slightly sniffily and squinty eyed, but ready to continue. With my brain cells greatly diminished, I was able to read the warnings before attempting the second phase, and resist my urge to swallow the stain while setting off explosions. Which would've been detrimental in the completion of the turned out tedious task and my existence. As for inhaling the vapors, I consider that necessary. Like a methadone to ween me off of the intoxication from phase one.
Knowing that I could sniff, sip, and set off fireworks while varnishing the water based final stage made it excitedly uneventful. At that point I just wanted to brush the shinny coat on and leave a blank canvas for future expressionism.