It's done. Final inspection has been passed, everything's working. It's actually been physically finished, intact, for weeks now, but I didn't want to post for fear of jinxing it.
Whenever I used to hear some over-bred suburban yuppie talk about how awful and stressful her latest kitchen remodel was, I would roll my eyes with derision. Talk about a first-world problem: "Wah! I couldn't fix Snotleigh and McTravesteigh mac and cheese for six whole weeks while the electricians rewired the entire house to accomodate the restaurant-quality twelve burner gas range I'll never use except to heat up jars chocolate sauce that I'll gobble down whole in the middle of the night in order to feed the growing sense of emptiness in my soul! Wah!"
Well, now I'm that whiny waste of skin. All in all, the project wasn't that bad. I got along with everyone involved (with one exception) and got a pretty sweet bathroom out of the deal. Christ, though, it took its toll. I've never been comfortable pigeonholing myself as an extrovert or an introvert—frankly, I swing back and forth between the two like a schizoprenic Courtney Love on a stripper pole. What I finally realized in a big way is that while I enjoy the company of others and can do well in social situations, I need time and space to recharge. In the mornings, when I running around getting ready for work, interruptions throw me off track and I start dreading the rest of the day. It's a trite Cathy-ism, but you really shouldn't try to talk to me before my first cup of coffee. I've managed to alienate just about every neighbor and coworker by snubbing them in the morning.
God, I hate Cathy.
Anyway, I had to be on. I had to be on and friendly and not growl at people starting at 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning and lasting into the evening. It was the evening (going into late night) intrusions that finally broke me and turned me into a shreiking she-harpy Gorgon of Doom and killed my excitement and goodwill and happy-smiliness on this project. The lesson I learned is not to put up with anything that annoys me for even a day. Because first, I'm paying these folks to come and do a job for me, and I should be able to determine when that job gets done. I mean, I have to be here from 8 to 5 (although I do goof off in the office and, well, write in my blog so maybe that's a bad reason). Second, if I keep bending over backward to accomodate people, not only will they keep doing whatever it is that's annoying me, not realizing that I'm turning into a twitchy repressed freak, I'll eventually lose my shit all over them and that's not pretty.
I also learned a lot about where my limits are, how to take what I'm being offered, that Michael is a clever, supportive man, and that while tile guys are fairly high up in the construction food chain, they are shithouse-crazy oversharers and there's a reason why they do a job that requires them to be isolated from others.
Because I haven't wanted to jinx it, I haven't taken photos since I took the painters tape off the Frameless! Shower! Doors! I promise I will take photos this weekend and post them, because it really does look beautiful. Prettier than any other bathroom because I drew the plans and picked everything and suffered through, what? nine months? of construction. It was worth it.
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