Why do people hate floors?

Carpet, I understand. I hate carpet. I have ripped up carpet before.

This is so, so gross. Yes, that is blue and green shag carpeting. That light brown is not floor. It is dust from the padding.

I don't know what was with me. Like really, I do not know why it has been a year and a half since I ripped up that carpet and the floor has not been finished. All I would have to do is call the number and write a check, and this hideousness would be gone from my life.

No. Apparently I needed to rip up more carpet. Rufus started that task for me a while back.

Some homeowners might think that it is preferable not to have a small furry assistant. I think it is preferable not to listen to my small furry assistant repeatedly hurling himself at the basement door.

When I peeled back the carpet at the landing, the floor looked really good.

 

So I got out the gloves, the prybar, and the needle-nosed pliers. At 9 o'clock on a Friday night, because that's the kind of homeowner I am.

The outlook seemed good when I started. Not excellent, but good. Workable.

The second step was not as good. The third was not lovely. And then it just got plain disgusting, so disgusting that I got out my boxcutter and cut the carpet so I wouldn't have to deal with the rest of it. I cleaned up what I could so it would be safe to use the stairs.

And then I got some soapy water and a brush. That seemed to help the situation a bit, if only in my mind.

If I were to do this again, I would start at the bottom of the stairs. That would have given me a solid, safe, tack-bar free work area as I moved up the stairs. But this is how we learn.

I'm just...ugh. Why would people do this to perfectly good hardwood?

More to the point, after my experience in the bedroom, why did I think it would be better? Well, because the landing looked better.

What it really does (I hope) is force the issue, so that I say no, I cannot live with these stairs. An entire bedroom ready except for floor-finishing and molding, I can live with, because I have another bedroom to live in. But now the dishevelment is in a space I use and see every day, and this should bring it to the level of crisis occupied by water heaters, faucets, and lack of electricity.

Why do I wait? Fear. That's the easy question.

The hard question is, fear of what? The worst has happened. What I feared has come about. And I'm still here.

I lost my job. I didn't lose my house.

I lost my grip for a while, but I got it back, and every day I am stronger.

So what am I afraid of? There's nothing to be afraid of. It's all happened.

So I stood there at 11 o'clock Friday night (1 tough gal, 5 stairs and clean-up = 2 hours, make a note of it) and resolved to finally call the floor-fixing people. As bad as the stairs look right now, the change is that I can see how they will look -- how they could look -- when they are finished. I can see their potential.

Newly detached

When I first conceived of this blog, it was the high-flying adventures of a single gal with her own house, career, cats, and home repairs. There were going to be stories of how I decided I needed my own house, my search, and each of the projects I took on, with pictures and missteps along the way.

Then my job let me go, and I became more detached than ever.

In the week since I was told I was not coming back, I've had every idea from retraining as a computer programmer to stocking the shelves in the middle of the night at a well-known chain store (which I'll be doing starting Monday, it turns out). I've thought about renting out a room and despaired at the paint (and other) stains on my carpet and the questionable electricity. I've tried to clean my ancient kitchen linoleum. I've learned through examining my bills that the window air conditioner really doesn't take that much electricity so it's worth it to be able to sleep at night.

And, yes, I've cried a lot because it turns out that teaching isn't the stable, always-in-demand job that it once was. It took me two years to get the job I had, and I only had it for a year and a half.

I also managed to break one of the planters in the picture. Those things cost $100! Oopsie.