Friday, December 10, 2010

OMG, it's like a real blog.

I have ripped my bathroom limb from limb and prepared it for painting. There's nothing like taking on a last minute project to avoid anxiety over a major life change, or to keep your mind from floating back to the things you'd rather not ever think about again because hell it's Christmas time and this shit just happens. It's not Christmas though, I'm reflecting because its the end of a year, so we... or rather I... HOPE for a newer better more badass year. Of course by badass I mean balanced. Duh.

So yeah, here I sit waiting for putty to dry, and soaked sheet rock to stop disintegrating. It's behind the toilet. I'm not all about extra hassle... I can make it work, and I am... making it work.

So far I have killed my taste buds and given my eyes a nice chemical burn... I managed to fix a six inch hole that I once put in the wall in a moment of uhm... well... let's call it passion... but in the process I also completely ruined an entire portion of perfect wall and should probably replace it but instead of going out in the snow I'm just going to hope it dries by morning. I've involved a number of fans to help.

In searching for extra fans, there was this really beautiful moment where I stumbled across photos of my ex husband thus prompting my children to inquire as to why he doesn't love them. While plugging in the fans and trying to come up with the best possible answer to the worst possible question I touched the tip of my right pointer finger to the prong of what I believe is an industrial fan manufactured in the late 1970's by sears and zapped my self... Zapped it real good! Let me just say that electrocution is so much more exciting when you have a metal screw in your wrist. Maybe it's just psychological, but I think that thing is still charged with the extra current.

The ruined wall is still damp... but the bit that crumbled away... well I can cover that with the trim when I replace it because it's by the floor. Yay for small miracles! So then came time to take shit down. I couldn't find my Phillips head and cut the back of my thumb from the nail to the first joint, length-wise, and kind of caddy cornered, trying to remove my towel rack with a steak knife.

It's been a little like living out one of those scenes in one of those stupid comedies where you get annoyed just watching because it's all so ridiculous and unfunny and without a plot or a punchline.

Currently, I'm smoking a cigarette that I can't taste and can actually feel the smoke sticking to the clorox lining my airway. It's an awesome feeling, that one, and makes me think about Drano for some strange reason, which reminds me of this documentary I watched this morning about physician assisted suicide, which then reminds me that I'm likely going to develop dementia and leaves me wondering when I should start my trek to the Swiss Alps, which then reminds me that I have plenty of time, and yet no time at all, and then I look at those fans pointed at my toilet and wonder what it would be like to take a piss in wind tunnel.

Should be great fun.

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