Breathing has become something one longs for like the sweet memory of a lover. Between cutting stone, sanding drywall mud, and, of course, the stench of primer, paint, and stain, I’ve given up on ever soothing my sore, raw throat, and dry, itchy eyes.
The bathroom, however, is finally looking like a bathroom. Armand, the cat who could, has already jumped up on the new toilet to check it out. Chased off by L’il Sis’s Springer Spaniel, he didn’t actually use the toilet, but he will. I still haven’t figured out how he taught himself that trick, and I never will. Some things deserve to be a mystery.
As I write this update, the boys are working on the plumbing. The shower head – heads actually, one from the wall and one removable – is being installed, and the sink drain is being hooked up through female-to-female connectors. I’m not a big fan of female-to-female, but then, my husband often asks if he should be concerned about my obsession with the opposite. Either way, the bathroom will be mostly functional by the end of the day and I couldn’t be more excited.
On the Resolutions front, I’ve been slacking lately. Writing gets pushed aside to grout, and visiting the gym is pointless when one has been slapping up drywall mud for hours on end. The latter is an acceptable substitute, but the former…
Well, I knew we would spend the entire month on this project. What the fuck was I thinking?
Next, I’ll grab The Muse and stuff her in her little cage. She’s taken fancy to a tiny but quick football player and wants to write a story for him. Damn, girl, what about Crandall, and Jordan, and Nic, and Max? Yes, she’s overdue for a sobering afternoon kenneled. I can’t waste time letting my mind wander over this new guy.
Time is fleeting as it is.
PS For those of you not reading it on WDC, the next installment of Personal Horrors has been posted on No Girls Allowed. Just click the title.