Help me, I can hardly move I'm that sore. What? (You say.) Perhaps I've been channeling Jodi?

Unfortunately, no.

Instead, at about three pm yesterday afternoon in true spastic fashion I decided I couldn't tolerate the carpet in our office/front room any longer. (This is, of course, after about 4 hours of quality plaster/wallpaper scraping time in my bathroom.) So what's a girl to do? (You know, when she grows tired of that other tedious project and is tryign to find a way to distract herself without the guilt of not completing that dreadful project?) Decide that living on concrete is preferable to tolerating that disgusting sponge of smells and skin flakes and nastiness. I let D talk me into installing some linoleum tiles (which I actually quite like) for now, until we decide to spend the bucket load we'll need to to retile the entire downstairs.

By installing I mean that we marched (well I marched and D came along without choice) to Home Depot and purchased 11 boxes of said tiles (which way a fucking ton), and some other technical stuff that the D insisted we needed (latex primer, sandpaper, self-leveling filler and other boring stuff). By the time we got home it was alread near 5 pm. But, we rushed headlong into the project...all weekend warrior like.

So? Well, besides being absolutely shattered from moving furniture, ripping up carpet and lugging it into the garage until it magically disappears (thanks D), scrubbing the floor, filling in holes, sanding filler, and rescrubbing...the contents of both rooms are squashed into the front hall and in our dining area. Why? Well silly! Didn't you know? We have to lay the tile out and let is "cure" for 48 hours before we can install it. So, we will be living in absolute clutter mode for at least the next few days.

(Conveniently, I will be at work and then out of town and I have faith that somehow that floor will be installed by the end of the week without my having to lift another finger...because quite frankly, I'm not sure I can at the moment.)