i have been grinding down the bricks in the bathroom to make them match the rest of the house and to satisfy my compulsive swiffering (i can't swiffer over bumpy bricks), and now i really want to back out of this job. it sucks, it is heroically messy, and the payoff is minimal. no one will notice this but me and my swiffer.
anyway, i am halfway through the job and i see some striking parallels to the arguments i made for finishing my dissertation (another job i got halfway through and really wanted to back out of)--"you can't quit now because you've done all this work," etc. so here i am, covered in god-only-knows-what kind of toxic debris, giving myself mesothelioma or something, grinding down bricks that only i will care about. but i will finish the job--i have to now, as there is a giant demarcation between where i've sanded and where i haven't. clearly, i learn nothing from my experiences and have entered the realm of jackass...
i wondered why the previous owner of the house didn't do this himself; now i know... also, my mask was stark white and brand new before this round of grinding. and no, rich isn't using mood lighting in this picture--the air is that full of orange dust. rich coughed and sputtered dramatically after shooting these pictures.
this is what rich saw when he walked into the playroom--i should mention that i had the playroom door to the rest of the house shut, the bathroom door to the playroom shut, and the vacuum attachment running on my orbital sander when he came in. and there was still this much dust floating around the playroom. and even though i thought i cleaned everything up last night, the dust didn't settle until this morning so i got to clean it all up again (good lesson learned, though--i'm all for waiting to clean something).
i think the dust is absorbing into my skin and, probably, my brain. rich is singing, "she's a brick...HOUSE" in the background.
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