I, and everything I own, am covered in a layer of dust. We have finally begun the home renovation in earnest and this weekend, my RRHB and pile of friends, knocked down the entire first floor of my “house.”
Hundreds of collective years of dust (come on, if each particle is a hundred years old, that’s a lot of years!) has now descended upon every inch of the upper floors where we’ve been living. We hauled six tonnes (and I can’t even think about all of that in the bloody garbage; it makes me sick) of plaster, lathe (bundled up to burn at the cottage), drywall, lumber, wire mesh, old insulation, newish insulation, and all kinds of other material out and dumped it into a bin.
I’ve never been so sore in my entire life. And we’re still not done. Today we have to clean up all the mess we made after the past two days of demolition. I am not looking forward to it; but it’s a really, really good kind of tired. It’s a kind of tired I haven’t felt in ages, one that comes from hard work and real energy, no disease exhaustion in sight. How’s that for good news?
Wait a sec – weren’t you NOT supposed to be around for this? A trip to Buffalo or a trip to the cottage to avoid all the dust and mayhem? I mean good tired can be good, but I feel like I failed you in our very practical, very proactive plan!