If you have a power sander, dispose of it now. Throw it in the garbage, give it to Goodwill, kill it with a cutting torch.
People with power sanders are like people with pickup trucks. When people need to move on the cheap, they think of people with pickup trucks.
"Yeah, Jerry's got a pickup truck! Maybe he can help us out!"
Similarly people who need something sanded on the cheap think of people with power sanders.
Thus it was I found myself today at my aunt's place, power sanding her . . . ceiling.
She'd had the ceiling in her TV room covered with wooden slats, with an antique wash, and they needed to be sanded before the final Varathane finish.
I don't have a big power sander; not an industrial-strength belt sander, just a regular Black & Decker orbital/straight jobbie, weighing maybe three pounds.
Still. Try climbing up a wobbly ladder, holding the sander (which mysteriously gained a pound more each time I lifted it) straight over your head, making two or three passes, crawling down wobbly ladder, moving said ladder over a foot.
Repeat as necessary. After I'd been doing this for 30 minutes, I thought I was having a heart attack, so I adjourned to the porch for a cigarette and to contemplate my mortality.
I could picture it vividly: Weeping throngs. The priest intoning, "Well, at least he died using his most prized tool."
My ghostly fists beating at the inside of the coffin: "No! I hate sanding! That's why I bought the damned thing! I thought it'd save time! I much prefer my drill!"
So I reiterate: Get rid of your power sander. Or my aunt.