Day....Whatever....

I’m sitting down after a spate of activity that was as unlikely as my very productive hangover. Yeah, it’s Day, five, or is it six. Hell I don’t know, it’s been too long since I’ve seen my family, and last night I went to happy hour....at a bar...with friends.  All kinds of unlikeliness going on around here lately.

Yeah, so those beers last night? About that. I woke up with a painful reminder why I don’t go to happy hours or bars anymore.

I slept in, coming to at a very slacker-like 8:47 on a Saturday morning. A few aching blinks, then I crawled out of bed at a time that under normal circumstances I'd first start thinking about lunch. I plod to the kitchen for coffee, the dogs are tapping their paws and waiting on their walk.

I nibble on toast, sipping coffee, turning on the television to find a documentary on the organ black market, thinking, Why would there be a black market for an instrument? Oh wait. Perfect, I need a liver.

Shaking the fog, I get the dogs outside where the fresh morning air works its magic. The sluggish start to my morning begins to fade and I feel less and less like a wad of chewed gum, which is good because I've got a lot to do. With three days to go, I need to get cracking on my projects.

Back home, I knock back two Ibuprofen and then cut the grass. Then it really was time for lunch.  And that’s when this happened:

 

 

 

You see my wife buys those Morningstar fake burgers, which, while I can dress them up and get them down okay, sometimes a guy just wants a burger. And being untethered and left free to make impulse decisions...well the results are quite disastrous. And oh so tasty...
 
I take a moment to let the rock in my stomach to digest, then it’s on to the sun room. I get the floor painted. With all the tiles and nails up, I ran into a few problems when I tried to paint the other night, attempting to use an oil based porch paint but the room was just too enclosed. I fought through it, at least until I started seeing the little green men. But now with my trusty water based paint that will hopefully rinse out of my hair (don't ask), I think I'm going to be okay.

*On a side note, if you've noticed that this blog has gone to crap with nonsensical ramblings since my wife's been gone then all I can tell you is that they'll be home soon...

Alright, moving along. My hangover is long gone and I’m gaining momentum. Next on the list is the hallway. What does every room in the house have that the hallway doesn't? Shoe molding. Do you know how many times I’ve heard the words shoe molding over the last couple of years? Exactly...

Well, the shoe molding is down. I feel good about the day. All of it--most of it. I’m done. Hang on…
 
Okay, I’m back, and the following is totally true. While I was writing this blog, I looked over at an old faded wooden chair that I’d brought in from the sun room so that I could paint the floor. I can't put that in there, I thought, it could ruin the presentation. So I hopped up, grabbed the chair, hauled it out back, sanded it down, and then slapped on a coat of polyurethane. Seriously, that just happened. I'm losing my mind....
 

Ta Da...

  
Tomorrow I’ll tackle the debris of tools and sawdust and paint and cereal boxes and beer cans, but for now, I've gotta make dinner. Tonight it will be grilled cheese, if only I can find the iron....

 

 

Day Two...

On day two I get started on the entranceway, ripping up the diarrhea colored school tiles and getting ready to paint the concrete floor. We’ve done so much with this old house, but it seems like there’s still so much left to do.

Oh, well, I snag a beer from the fridge and get cracking, chipping away at the tiles and breathing the sweet, tangy taste of asbestos.

The dogs are confused. There’s loud music, no kid, no wife. Just sweat, beer and some manly grunting that may or may not sound like a little old lady crying.

I’m hauling things out of the sunroom to the carport, and I can just feel the testosterone in air. This place is like a frat house. A frat house with singing toys and a high chair and aww…he left his little shoes. They’re so cute in my hands. I miss his little feet, the little chubby rolls on his arms and legs.
I hear a voice in my head, it's yelling. "Snap out of it you pansy!"

Okay, okay, I’ve got my shop vac out. I stare at it, overturned on the floor. My son would be so jealous, he has a thing for vacuum cleaners, the kid is obsessed. Another pang of guilt ripples through my stomach, or that could be the tacos. Either way, I miss that kid.

I miss him holding the water bottle in my mouth while I lay down on the kitchen floor. (long story, but sure gets a kick out of enhanced interrogation).

I miss those little morning chats with himself when he wakes up in the morning.

I miss…you know what, I’m not doing this. "Man up dammit!"

Smacking myself silly, i pull myself together. 

Back to work…