I mean, there’s nothing in the world that can reach down deep into your soul and make you feel all warm and fuzzy like taking a sledgehammer to a moldy, twenty-year-old bathroom.
I woke up Saturday feeling like I wanted to hit something with a hammer. Which, let’s be honest, I wake up feeling like that on most days. On this particular morning, however, I was in the mood to indulge myself, and it didn’t take me long to identify the upright coffin masquerading as a shower in the master bath as my victim. I may have pointed a finger at it and said “You. You’re gone.”
Because I find verbal intimidation to be highly effective in demolition.
Also effective? A sawsall and three-pound hammer. This place looks much better already (even though I just now realized that picture is fuzzy as hell. Just squint your eyes a bit, which is exactly what is required when you look at it in real life.)
Pretty sure I could have withstood a nuclear blast from inside of that thing, since it took a couple of hours to even put a dent in it.
At some point mid-destruction I took my dust mask off for a minute, put it back on, and then started to get irrationally effing pissed that the thing was blocking my vision. Then I looked in the mirror.
Ah. So… it works better when you put it on right-side up then? Yeah.
Demo was kind of hit or miss. Like, I hit a lot of shit with the hammer, but I also miss-stepped and landed on a board, rusty-nail side up. By “up” I mean “up through the bottom of my boot an into my foot.” I flirt with tetanus at least once a week around here, just to keep things exciting.
After a few hours I’d made a dent in the wall tile, floor tile, and a bit of the shower. I also, somewhat unfortunately, managed to get the large, black mirrors down without breaking them. Which means I feel obligated to keep them in one piece instead of throwing them in the dumpster.
Okay, maybe they are going in the dumpster.
My plan was to resume demo and clean-up on Sunday, but instead I got to spend three hours and $400 at the emergency vet, just for the privilege of having the cat puke all over me. He’s doped up on kitty-asprin and laying next to my chair snoring as I write this, so things are pretty much back to normal around here.
These days my life is basically squeezing in progress between bouts of animal adventures…
But with faces like that to hug on, who could complain?