It began as a simple need to clean. To tidy up. To put things right.
It quickly became a cleaning rampage.
No room in the house was held sacrosanct as sweeping, the ever popular picking things up from one room in order to set them pack in the room from hence they came, washing dishes, etc. Then I entered my room.
I intended to change the air dispersal vent to a new, clean white one from the old, rusted, mid-century monstrosity that I've stared at with hatred for so long. But this, my friends, began a new journey; a journey that wouldn't end until I was bruised and abraded and the room naked except for a layer of decade old dust.
Once I unscrewed, prodded, cro-barred and ripped the old vents from the wall, the true horror of what lay beneath became apparent. Dust and oddities from the time of black and white television and the realization that because the old vent was huge and the new vent(s) were cute and small, I would have to change the flooring.
A daunting task on many levels. But one my OCD and vitamin B fueled self was up to as, before a conscious decision was made, I found myself ripping at the light brown, rather ka-ka colored carpeting with my bare hands. And encountering a hellish tack strip with my knuckles.
Knowing now what lay ahead of me, I equipped myself with some of my favorite tools:
1.) A hammer. Oh, the joy of release this simple tool can bring a girl!
2.) A mini-cro bar. Cutest damn tool you'll ever see and damn handy in tight spots where prying needs to take place. When I lost this in the midst of the project I was nearly in tears I was so distraught.
3.) Various screwdrivers. Never be without them.
4.) An extra sharp boning knife. Fuck utility knives. Boning knives are easier to use, more manoeuvrable and freakishly sharp. My Dad had quite a large collection that he would keep sharp enough to split atoms.
5.) Sharpening stone. Even the best boning knife needs a good honing every other square foot of twenty year old carpet.
I set to work. A fit of fore-thought over took me (rare, but handy when it happens) and I decided to cut the carpeting and padding (which I found out was at least forty years old - ew) into bite size chews that I could haul down to the curb this Wednesday.
Eight hours later and my room was down to sub-floor and I saw things in minutiae that no sane human would want to see. Or smell. Especially smell. Nails and staples were removed, the original color of the walls (an insipid rose/salmon amalgamation) was demonstrated by a splat and I'd removed seven bags of garbage. Um... I also hit myself in the knee with the hammer, taken the skin off a few knuckles and unintentionally done about a thousand squats and lunges. My legs are a wee bit sore today.
This weekend I will "clean" the kitchen. God knows what will happen in there (though the floor is pretty damn old and ugly...).
The morning of the day before Bouchercon. The old me would be in full on freak mode, afraid of forgetting something, packing and re-packing as I go over lists again and again with pathetic redundancy.
