Update August 31 (because we need one more in August)

Well, well. It seems at least 3 people read this thing (maybe 4) and they're getting antsy to hear the latest. I'm flattered. So due to popular demand, and the fact that it's the end of the month and I should post something just to post it, here's the post for August 31st.

We're tired. We kept telling ourselves "tomorrow . . . we'll get going again full bore tomorrow." But unlike that annoying curly-headed red haired twin of Chucky, we don't love ya. Cuz we're tired. We'd rather it be a week or so away. So between our work (yes, real jobs have intervened on several occasions) and the opportunity to get the hell out of Dodge last weekend to the beach in 85 degree perfectly sunny days, we have not worked on the house. Not one iota. And it's felt glorious.

It appears that we're older than we thought. And seem to need more rest than we thought. And were working purely on adrenaline the last 2 weeks before the move. Too bad no one mentioned that to us. We just thought we were super-human and accomplished. And somehow, that went away. I mean, not trickled away or drizzled away, or slowly dissipated. Instead it was like hitting a Mack truck, or perhaps the front end of an angry 12 point buck. So we stopped, being the intelligent humans that we are (yeah, right).

Now, we've had to make sacrifices. We don't have good food to eat. Heat n Eats are serving us adequately, and we don't have much fresh to eat because there's really nowhere to wash it all, prep it all, or cook it all.

We're probably not all that close to Godliness right now, either, if you know what I mean. The trash is taken out, and the litter is scooped, and the laundry is done, and each day we take a dish tub laden with coffee and tea implements from the morning ritual and try to use real soap and water and scrub brush and clean those items in our bathroom sink. Considering the size of the sink, it's pretty remarkable that we get anything clean in there, and I won't let us clean anything in the beautiful bathroom sink because I don't want it messed up just yet. And we shower. But other than those things, there's really not much point to cleaning. Hiding from any dirt seems to be the best laid plan right now.

But now we have a goal. Babs is coming (our friend's name for Rich's mom) so we HAVE to figure out a way to muster some energy and motivation and create a kitchen. (Our crowding problem is like one of those infuriating puzzles we got as kids . . . slide this piece that way, slide that piece another way, and voila! you have a picture of a Mexican riding a Burro. In order to get the rest of the house in order, we have to move the kitchen cabinets and all the contents of all the boxes that have contents that go in the kitchen, in the kitchen. Then everything else in the house can move to where it needs to be.) Don't get me wrong . . . I really want a kitchen. But I also really want it to be over already. And we've been having the sheetrock debate for a while now.

The sheetrock debate is this: when is enough? when is it just not worth continuing to mud and sand? when will we be able to look at the imperfections, petrified in paint for all eternity, and say "it's fine . . . we did it, and we're proud of it, even if it's not perfect"? How much of it can we cover up with tile in a backsplash later? We've debated with ourselves for the past two weeks on how much is too much, and when is enough enough. I threw up my hands last week. I think Rich finally gave up the ghost this week. Honestly, if anyone comes in there and notes that the sheetrock job isn't perfect, I think we'll just hand the offender a taping knife and mud tray and tell them to help themselves. Perhaps we're too hard on ourselves? Perhaps not. But we've worn ourselves down to the point that we'd rather bitch about the poor job than go any further with it. So imperfections be damned. We're done. (again, yeah, right)

Tonight I started cutting in with the ceiling paint, anywhere cabinets won't be going. Rich did the rolling and we were both in a groove, with me self-congratulating in private, thinking "yay, we've finally made a breakthrough! We're really doing it!" And then Rich runs out of paint. Ugh. That beach-sized lawn chair in front of the TV is starting to look appealing again . . . Inertia. It's not just for cars anymore.

Tomorrow is more work work and then a trip to Home Depot for more ceiling paint. And maybe I'll look for a box of motivation, or a ladder of success while I'm there.