I’m not even joking when I call this my dullest entry yet

Here's the latest page from my book of 301 Drawing Prompts (the last page flipt yesterday); the prompt for this here masterpiece was "Your school mascot".

Dear diary,

Well, I’m finally beginning to tackle some of these repair projects. We moved in to this new-old house about a year ago, and for the first couple months, being exhausted from the whole selling-and-buying process, all I did was dawdle; I didn’t even attempt to do any repairs.

Then, when I felt my energies returning, I began to install laminate flooring in the main room and hallways, after tearing up the carpet; also I replaced many of the light fixtures: I installed new outdoor lights, and I changed out the big bulky downstairs lights, the lights above the vanity in the bathroom, and the overhead light in the kitchen. Also I ripped out the old bathroom sink and replaced that, and I fixed a great many drywall holes and problems.

These initial repairs constitute only a fraction of what needs to be done to this ailing abode, but, considering that I am the opposite of a handyman, it’s not wholly inaccurate to label my efforts unbad.

But then winter struck, and we had problems with ice dams on our roof, so the fear of a leaking ceiling overburdened my spirit. Then, at the end of winter, there was the great snow-melt, which caused water seepage in our basement: that was the ingot that broke my spirit’s back. (Do not argue that all spirits are invertebrates: I know for a fact that my spirit is an enslaved dragon.) So from that point onward, I’ve accomplished zip: zero: no further repair work. All thru springtime, and all thru summer, which ends officially in just a score of days, I’ve done nothing to the house. I’ve just been bicycling around the neighborhood and meeting the neighbors.

So the floor remains unfinished: its underlayment is showing at its northern edge (this sounds sexy but it’s not). And the sink had a slight leak just under the drain, near the top of the tailpiece, somewhere around the gasket, washer, and lock nut; and I wasn’t in the mood to solve this issue, so I just let it persist: Make yourself at home, I told the leak by way of telepathy; and I gave it my blessing and said, Increase and multiply! Also there’s a continuous strip of subfloor that’s exposed around the perimeter of the bathroom, because whoever installed the roll-out-&-stick-on floor canvas didn’t bother to run it under the base moulding (the baseboards); they just cut it short and left a gap at all edges; so I must somehow cover that up; but, again, I’ve neglected to do so, because: Cursed be it, forever.

And we purchased a door, which has been just sitting in a corner of our garage, waiting for install; but I refuse to do the work. Therefore, henceforth, let this be known as THE DOOR TO NOWHERE.

Here is why you should pity me, and stop berating me in your thots and prayers. All this handiwork and home-renovation stuff is new to me — carpentry, plumbing, drywall, painting, welding: remodeling in general — so if I accomplish any chore, it requires a long period of research, where I read up on how the stuff works, and watch videos from thugs online showing how to bamboozle; and often I must take a trip to the hardware store and buy all sorts of tools, cuz I don’t own more than the basics.

But here’s the good news, and proof that your thots & prayers either were or weren’t effective (depending on whether you thot & prayed for or against me): After leaving our house in a state of disrepair for two full seasons, I am now, at long last, beginning to tinker again. For, yesterday, I officially kenosis’d myself back into house-tasks.

And isn’t this strange: the one day that I felt my energy charged up enough to recommence my labors was on Labor Day (which, here in the U.S., is observed on the first Monday in September). “A day that honors the American labor movement and the power of collective action by laborers, who are essential for the workings of society.” That’s how the encyclopedia describes it. I always think of Labor Day as an accomplishment of the socialists and communists, because those were the groups that were most on the side of the laborers...

[From the end of that last paragraph, to avoid capsizing this entry with working-class contentions, I deleted many sentences containing phrases such as “means of production”; “hardworking populace”; “the wealthy private owners”; “captialism’s pyramid scheme”; and “multitudes of isolated pawns under a handful of bishops”.]

I won’t waste time talking about economic systems and inequality. I made a vow to accept the system as it is, and to be a good Capitalist and a Conservative Republican like my earthly father, and just let the common people languish, so that we may hasten the fulfillment of the prophecy of H. G. Wells’ novel The Time Machine, where in A.D. 802,701 humankind’s two classes, rentiers and workers, have become two distinct species: the Eloi and the Morlocks.

Thus on Labor Day, which is a day that I should rest from work and treat as a high holy sabbath, so that I may contemplate the accomplishments in dignified and humane working conditions that have been established for the Morlock class by the various activists of the labor movements — protections which, by the way, are under constant attack by the Owner class and are even now almost totally stripped away — I say, on Labor Day, I began to get back to work:

I first approached the bathroom sink. I had my plumber’s putty and thread-seal tape in hand. I unscrewed the jamb nut (which, earlier, I called a lock nut — I’ve heard it referred to by both names, and I love to toss around half-understood terminology, so I beg the pardon of all lingua-phobes: I’ll try to please you better next time) and tried to pull down the rubber gasket, but the thing was quite secure, so I decided to tighten the nut back on and just run the water for a while to reveal the leak’s source...

Well, I ran the water for forty days and forty nights, and there was no leak found. The sink was apparently shipshape. Two seasons ago, when I abandoned the project, this sink’s drain was dripping exactly several drips per time-period, but now the leak was asleep. I didn’t even have to lullaby it. So when I loosened and then re-tightened the thingamabob, which I referred to above as the thingamajiggy but which I’ve learned is actually the whatchamacallit, I must have put exactly the right amount of pressure on the gasket, causing it to hold water.

So that was Job One. I expect that, when I check back in a few days, it’ll be leaking again.

The next job — Job Two — was to cover the gap in the flooring between the baseboards & the linoleum. We got this cove molding that’s intended for ceilings (it covers the place on a vertical wall which forms a ninety-degree angle with the empyrean), but it was the right size for the task at hand, so we decided to try it. It comes in long strips that need to be cut to fit; so I cut them to fit. This is easier said than done. I kept messing up and having to start over again and again. The stuff is basically styrofoam, so it’s prone to…

Long story short, I got all the moulding dry-fitted and waiting to be secured into place. I really hope I don’t need to do more than add construction adhesive beneath each strip of material (I use the generic filler-term “material” only because I can’t remember what this molding is made from: I thot it was polystyrene but it might be polyurethane) and then caulk all the seams up with silicone.

Is this boring?—this subject, and the way that I’m writing about it? I think it is. All I’m doing is giving you the facts about my house-repair projects. There’s no human interest beyond [fill-in-the-blank] — it’s something a machine might like to read. So why continue with this composition? Well, I’m sorta not continuing: this questioning paragraph counts as a stopping point. I’m trying to be honest with myself, by letting all the above stand as-is instead of blotting it; I’m trying to admit that this mundane quotidian bullshit is all I had on my mind this morning. I did not wake up thinking about naked angels being chased by bulls. I did not wake with thots about life and liberty, justice, the pursuit of happiness, ethics, democracy, child-rearing techniques, views on euthanasia, plans for a peaceful resolution of all conflicts with our intergalactic adversaries, or even a treatise on canned ravioli. Some mornings I do wake up with a full, finished sermon in my head; but not today. Today my mind was preoccupied with gruntwork.