Despite the day before being god awful and my sinus infection and the fact I was sleeping in a fucking tent I awoke the next morning at six forty five and crawled out of the tent flap like a zombie coming out of the grave so I could take care of all the pets before 8am when the septic guys were coming to install the septic system for the house that I haven't started building yet.
You know, that house.
And of course check on the sub floor in the bedroom and see if it is dry so I can lay vapor barrier down. So I get up and take care of the pets and try to reassure the dog that we are not trying to kill him with all these changes and then I fantasize about washing my face and then I throw caffeine in my mouth and eat food and then have more caffeine and then I find real clothes and start assembling the tools I am going to need. I also notice that the stress plus upcoming time of month plus not being to wash my face has left me with so much acne that my pimples have pimples. Fantastic.
So then I slap on my respirator and then I realize that that vapor barrier I want to lay down is in the pick up under all the plywood we just bought because of course it is. And also that I needed to take that other Benadryl from the Clinton administration because my bee stings were itching like crazy.
So I pop that in my face and switch into plywood unloading gloves and then the septic guy is here and we watch him unload the backhoe and I talk with his wife who was driving the utility pickup while I clutch yet another mug of tea and then we follow them over and then I want to get back to work but they keep asking us questions about this and that and the electrical box and the best way to get the backhoe in and then me and Scott tag team off and he goes to cut plywood and then the truck with the tanks shows up and stares at our mud pit of a field and then I catch the driver looking at me weird for a moment and then I remember that I am a big pimply mess with three deep grooves in my face from the respirator that all the people I am about to pay money to today have been ignoring except for the backhoe drivers wife who keeps shooting me looks that are half pitying and half scared like I am lying about the water heater and have actually been hacking up alien bodies in the bedroom. But she laughed at my jokes so I decided to forgive her. Mostly.
Giving up on dignity, I stayed to watch them lower in the tank which Scott showed back up for and took pictures of the damn thing with his phone for me because there was no way I was walking all the way back up to the mobile home to get the damn camera.
|Pictured, my hopes and dreams and a concrete poop tank.
The tank came in two sections and they sealed them together and then they had to work out how to get the giant ass truck out of my muddy ass field. Let me put it this way, the guy putting in the tanks first words when he saw the hole for it was “no wonder you needed this set up, your water line is like, eight inches below the top soil.”
Then he went on to say that he thought they should have bought in the dozer to pull the truck out and I saw the bill ratcheting up another thousand dollars and my blood pressure shot through the roof and then the backhoe operator said he could probably pull him out with the boom arm no problem and then I felt kinda bad about threatening them with the shot gun accidentally last night. And then the driver just nodded and said he would try to act like he knew what he was doing and then he hopped in the cab and then the backhoe and him danced the beautiful and ancient dance of their peoples and he slowly made his way to the road and then I felt myself take a breath.
That was until we had to find a way to turn him around. You guys remember that electrical line going to the mobile home? The one that was damaged during super storm Sandy? The one where the pole is leaning sadly uphill towards the main pole like it had too much to drink?
Well it hasn't improved very much since then.
So he kept having to make like, a thirty point turn and he kept hitting and hooking that damn line and we were all dispatched to find a board to hold it up with and then the backhoe guy got tired of waiting and used the boom arm to lift the line up in what I am sure was the safest move ever and then the truck got turned around and Scott went to make sure that he got out of our driveway okay and then my heart started again.
Then tank installer guy did some other stuff and then I decided that the part they needed me for was over and then Scott came back and I went up and unloaded the truck and had more caffeine to hide the fact that I was sick as shit and then I picked up the vapor barrier, got the tools I was going to need and got back into that bedroom to kick that floors ass.
The plan was to stick the plastic down with spray adhesive and then staple it to the floor and walls, because I'll be damned if I just sticking it to the floor after all this. So after fucking around with the first sheet trying to get a good system and not get my rubber kitchen gloves stuck to everything because spray adhesive is a motherfucker I got into a groove. Scott would periodically show up and take measurements and inform me of how the septic thing was going, but otherwise I was on my own.
We had also decided to paint the underside of all the plywood pieces with mold resistant pain because we are not playing this damn game again so Scott was frantically trying to get the pieces cut so that he could paint them and they would dry sometime this century.
Also at some point I staggered back outside to breathe some air and found that the county health inspector had arrived at some point and passed us and then I went back inside, got back down on my aching knees and began to glue some more vapor barrier to the floor and try to ignore the fact it was like 1pm and I was hungry. Then Scott came back in to tell me that they were done and tank guy had left a while ago and backhoe guy was starting to load and then I got unto a groove in the middle of the room where I didn't have to make any weird cuts along the walls and I was about to tell Scott he could start to bring in plywood now when he burst through the door and told me the firewood guy was here and that we had to get everything out of the driveway so he could pull in even though there was still a semi with a backhoe still out there.
So then we frantically brought in plywood and cleared the sawhorses while backhoe guy finished loading and then we moved the cars and then firewood guy backed in at the same time as I got the bill for the septic which was mercifully about what I thought it would be which was wonderful and good and fantastic and then I went and wrote that man a check right then and there which involved half leaping and climbing over all the bedroom shit that was shoved into my office and then I walked back up the drive and put it in his hand and he smiled like I had just given him exactly what he had always wanted for Christmas and then him and his wife gave me a look like they were seeing me clearly for the first time, pimples, respirator lines, floor clothes and all and then they walked back to their respective vehicles and I went and put my head on the firewood guys truck and told him I was sorry but my life had exploded.
And then he calmly told me he could see that and asked if I wanted another load and I said sure what the heck and he left and then I wrote out a check for him for his return because I firmly believe in paying people the instance the job is done because these people have worked damn hard for me and the best way to show them that is with money.
Sweet, sweet money.
Then I gave the check to Scott and went back into the room to discover that it didn't really smell like Pine-sol and death anymore and then I allowed myself to feel the tinyist glimmer of hope that maybe things would get better, traded in my respirator for a dust mask and then started putting in the rest of the vapor barrier while pretending my bee stings didn't itch like a motherfucker.
So then I finished stapling plastic to the walls and ate a peanut butter sandwich that somehow still tasted bland and awful even though I was hungry as fuck and then I started to screw plywood to the floor to make it look like a room again.
Of course some of the plywood couldn't be cut until the main sections were down to see how they fit so it seemed like we had hit a halt while paint was drying and then Scott was all like, we have most of one side of the room, why don't you start laying down tile. So then I started to lay down the peel and stick tiles, which was like the easiest thing in the world except they were sticky as fuck the the room wasn't straight. So then it became like a race with me trying to get tiles down as the plywood was coming in and then I looked out the window and saw the sun slip behind our ridge and looked at the spot the water heater was going to go and said let's do that next so we can have like, water again. And Scott was like okay.
But of course it wasn't that easy because we had also removed the toilet. Which we now had to put back on. Which meant fucking with the plumbing because with the plywood down we now had to raise up that little seal thing that the other sealing ring whatchamadozit hooks to. The things the toilet bolts to. That thing. It had to hook up with the floor thing, which was now half an inch too low because I bought the thick plywood.
Foresight I has it.
So then we tried several things that failed until we used two multitools to lever the thing up and then we tried to figure out how to keep it up there and then in the end Scott cut tiny chunks of plywood and we hammered them down under it and boom done.
Like the professionals do it. I'm sure. Pretty sure.
Then we put the ring on and argued about how it went and then we hit problem number two. Which was that we didn't have any of that grease that goes around that ring thing so then I girded my loins. Took off my gloves, because I had more faith in this stuff coming off my hands then the work gloves I paid money for and then I scooped that fucking stuff out from under the toilet and shoved it back onto the sealing ring and smoothed it into the correct shape and tried to pretend that it didn't look like there was bits of turd stuck in it while the tank dripped rust water on me.
I probably should have warned you before hand not to eat while reading this.
So then I went and washed my hands outside at the spigot like fifty million times and then we were ready to bring the water heater in. Which of course was so huge compared to the last one that it barely fit and I got my hand squished in not one but two places until we at last got it into the room and Scott gave it a manly bear hug of solidity in order to pick it up and put it in place and he worked on the plumbing while I tiled most of the room like a motherfucker and my knees screamed obstinacies at me until Scott gave me his knee pads which almost kinda helped because at this point my joints were just kinda fucked anyway.
So then at last I finished the main part of the room then I had the joy of joys of cleaning the entire bed and bringing it back in piece by piece while my body was like WTF are you DOING to me? And I was all IF YOU WANT TO SLEEP IN A BED AND NOT ON SOME LUMPY ASS GROUND YOU WILL DO THIS.
Then I got the bed in and we made it and then Scott revealed that the epoxy on the water heater needed to set but he was going to turn the water back on and then the tank had to fill so we would probably have hot water in the morning. So then he turned the water back on and we ate food and I washed my hands while the sink spit and threw water out in chunks because there was air in the line and then the toilet started in too and it sounded like the bathroom was like, constantly farting.
Of course now it was like ten at night and I was trying to figure out how to bathe. Since it was too dark to go to the creek, I figured I could just wet a wash cloth and do what Scott calls a whores bath because he watched Unforgiven too many times. So then I got my shit and some reasonably clean clothes and went into the bathroom and turned on the cold water faucet in the bathrub and was all like, I might take a bath.
And the the tub was all like “WHAT!? DID YOU SAY LAY DOWN THE BEATS?”
And I was all like no. And then it was all like “RAP WITH ME BRO.”
And then I was all like, no.
And it was all like “PSST PSST PSST PEFFFFFTTT PST PST PST PST PFFFFFT PSST PFFFFFFT.”
And then it got water everywhere because there was still like a bitch ton of air in that line. In the end I sort of just ended up wiping myself down like the wash cloth was the worlds most ineffective moist towellet and then I looked at myself in the mirror for a minute which was a fucking mistake and I realized that I needed to go to bed because it was like ten thirty at night and I had had two of the worst days ever and I was convinced the tub wanted to have a rap battle with me.
Mostly that last one though.
I mean I don't even know how to rap.
That tub was trippin is what I am getting at.
Or maybe I should have worn that respirator for a little longer then I did.