wild hairs and marital constraints

Sometimes inspiration hits me, and, like most things that hit, it is sudden and unexpected. I mean, some hits are expected, like when the macho guys in junior high tell you to hit them as hard as you can and then they try to bow up and take the hit, but it still hurt. You can tell. But in relation to my house, or any crafty thing, usually inspiration hits suddenly, and if I have a couple bucks, I am off to Lowes to buy not enough paint or whatever I need, because I live in denial, and one can should be adequate.

The MOG is a hopeful guy, and he keeps hoping that my new commitment to fitness or my random wild swings into domesticity will pay off in that I will suddenly care deeply about cleaning the house. It never works out, in fact, generally it makes the house a little more crazy while I move furniture and paint a wall or change doorknobs or whatever. I think, I really believe that he still thinks some kind of genetic disposition to scrubbing will kick in. I feel pretty confident that I will never a) look forward to cleaning or b) voluntarily go camping. But who knows, I don't even recognize myself these days.

So I have decided to paint the sunroom. I want to turn it into a magical cheerful homeschool room with educational posters and small tables and globes and bookshelves and one.million.books, and he is totally on board with "my" plan to make a convertible homeschool room that also looks totally adult and can host home groups. What is it with this guy that he has a basement studio AND an office and also wants the sunroom? How can a man who is home approximately 10 hours a week even USE three rooms?

Usually I get these ideas when he's out of town and I just do what I want and he comes home and looks shifty-eyed at my upgrades but it stands, because I'm cute and he doesn't want to redo it. This time I just had to take the bull by the horns, because he's not going anywhere. So I've just been going for it and he comes in and looks horrified and then he goes back to camp and then he begs me for the love of all that is holy to wait and let him help because my methods are so avant garde and he hates art. But he has these hangups about not painting when the house is dirty, and I have these hangups about cleaning the house when I have an IDEA, and ne'er the twain shall meet. Can this marriage be saved?