It seems that I am always gung-ho about taking on massive new home improvement projects. Hey, when Don Ho goes gung-ho, does that make... Okay, I got nothing.
Ever since I was 5 years old, I dreamed of redoing my bathroom. I'd sit all balled up in the corner of my bedroom, paper and pencil in tow, designing intricate tile patterns into the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes, my dear momma would wake up and bring me a bit of bread and some warm milk to buoy my spirits.
Today my childhood dreams became a reality. With sledgehammer in hand, and Sketchers in - or rather - on, foot, I demolished every last inch of lime green tile. It was a little like watching a petrified jello explosion.
Our house is 60 years old. After 60 years, the original dust has gathered dust and that secondary dust has a collection of dust that it keeps in a trapper keeper in it's locker. As I pounded into the room's skeleton, I was completely covered in it's soot. In fact, I'm still blowing wall sediment out of my nostrils. I may have drywall stuck in other places, but I have not yet fully disrobed.
As I demolished, I felt those lonely childhood hours bear down on me. Within the dust clouds, I saw myself there on the floor of my bedroom, towel rack ideas blooming from my frail body like a youthful Vern Kipp. I was in my element.
10 minutes passed. I was soaked in sweat and my arm hair had turned a wolfish gray. It was then that I realized that I hated this. It was then that I also realized that the enchanted, pauperish childhood had all been imaginary. I had never actually sat alone in my room for much of anything, let alone to design bathrooms. Nevertheless, when I wiped away the facade of false memories, I was left with this:Remodeling actually sucks!