The rotten bathroom floor has been ripped right down to the thank-god-it’s-still-okay planking, scrubbed repeatedly with hospital-strength antiseptic, and rebuilt with cement board. It was a huge, nauseating job, but luckily we caught it in time. Once I get the new tiles laid (that’s easy to do, right?), the ABS drains rebuilt and the toilet back on, the sink cabinet fixed and reinstalled, new paint and trim up (shit, this isn’t sounding like I’ve accomplished anything!!!)….

… well, once all THAT’S done, it’ll look p’urty and clean again.

For about an hour.
I live with three males, after all.

With this unexpected little detour into bathroom hell, and the garden doors and deck, I’ve spent the last seven days straight screwing (sadly, not that kind), hammering, hefting, slugging, cutting, cleaning, and generally being a very grubby tom boy. Generally, I’m in my glory when I can muck about doing stuff like this. I’m so thankful that I’ve been able to do the work and get these projects further along. And working with “boys toys” is always a fun bonus (sliding compound mitre saws kick power tool ass!)

But after another full day of being covered in grit and grime, I looked at the several hours worth of tile cutting ahead of me tonight and said, screw it, I’m quitting for the weekend.

I may be productive, but I’m not graceful. I’ve got a fat lip, blood blisters, and more cuts, bruises, and splinters than I can count. If I don’t do something soft and girly soon, I’m liable to start belching the alphabet and sprouting chest hairs.

And nobody wants me to have to blog about that.