Chop saws and fingers.

I can do this. I can fir-in and put up a piece of sheet rock and mud it and sand it and accomplish filling in the hole in the bathroom wall where the old, rusty medicine cabinet used to be. I am quite capable, have done projects like this many times before but it has been years. I find myself hesitating, procrastinating, full of self-doubt and fear this time.

I am tempted to turn to my soon-to-be-ex and ask him to help but at the same time want to be self sufficient. What if once the divorce is final and the house is sold, I am able to buy my own house instead of rent? I will need to do repairs myself, without him to rely on. I definitely won't be able to afford to call a repairman in for every little thing. Getting this house repaired and ready to sell  is the perfect opportunity for me to get my hand in and practice/learn to do repairs myself.

I grudgingly get myself to the home repair store, with a list of supplies in hand. I am hoping to find a replacement medicine cabinet that I can just neatly plug into the existing hole instead of having to sheet rock over the problem. No such luck. Apparently the size the old medicine cabinet was is no longer a standard size, sheet rocking it must be. Fortunately they now sell quarter sheets of sheet rock so I don't have to wrestle with a heavy, awkward full sheet. I still have plenty of mud and sheet rock screws at home but need a roll of paper tape. I might as well also pick up a white GFCI outlet to replace the tan one the electrician installed. A tan outlet in a white wall won't cut it. I return home with the supplies.

No more excuses. It is now time to begin. I take careful measurements in preparation to cut the 2 X 4's I am using to fir-in the hole. Now to try and gain access to the chop-saw on the work bench in the garage. (Who will get the chop-saw when the property is divided?) No projects have been worked on here for years and the surface of the workbench is now strewn with things that have never been properly put away. I attempt to put the items away but find that most of the items are potential debris instead of things worth keeping. Parts left over from past projects, items possibly needed later, an over-supply of materials. Who will take these items along with them once the house is sold and the property is divided up after the divorce? Who wants to bring all this unneeded clutter with them? Not me. I grab an item and look at the garbage can but just can't bring myself to toss it in. If we weren't divorcing, the items could remain. Throwing it out is confirming that my marriage is over. I can't face dealing with it right now although it will have to be dealt with soon.  I end up just pushing the stuff out of the way and plugging the saw in.

Instead of buying an entire 2 X 4 from the home repair store, I find long enough scrap pieces in the pile set aside to go to the dump. The pieces I am using will be salvaged from some old saw horses. I spread the legs apart and position them under the chop-saw blade. Just touching the chop-saw brings on a little fear, it's hard not to realize how easy it would be to chop off my fingers along with the wood. The saw horse legs want to close as I position one of the legs under the blade. Where are my fingers? Could my hand slip under the blade as I wrestle the leg into place? Satisfied with the positioning of the wood and my fingers, I grab the handle on the saw, squeeze the trigger and the saw roars. Now my fear is mixed with excitement, a little adrenaline rush, as I bring the blade down and it chops through the wood without effort. I measure and chop and have my stack of 2 X 4 pieces ready to go. I notice I am covered in sawdust and like it. I am a woman doing carpentry work and am proud of myself. My fingers are all still intact and the chop-saw is a loved instead of feared tool again.

A home becomes a house

Calling my place of residence a home really doesn't fit anymore, it has become a house instead of a home. The impending divorce has seen to that. In my mind a home is a place with love and security, a house is just a structure to be lived in. Now that the atmosphere here is full of the coming divorce, the love and security are gone. My home has turned into a house. All the memorabilia everywhere is now just clutter. The comfy couch so good for a nap is now just an eyesore that should go to the dump. As I enjoy sitting on the patio or looking out the window at the pleasant view, I am all too aware of the fact that my time doing these things is soon to end.

This place I live will soon belong to someone else and I look at it as a relater or prospective buyer will see it. I catch myself occasionally wanting to add another little quirky flourish to the place but than remember it is more or less not my place of residence anymore. Instead of decorating by adding more little personal touches, I need to get busy and take down the ones that already exist. I need to make my home generic, which is another reason it has become a house.

Repairs long procrastinated must now be done with no time to waste. The longer it takes to get the repairs done, the longer my soon-to-be-ex and I must live together, dragging out the divorce. I found it hard to design the new tile shower stall for someone else, not for me. We are finally replacing the old oil furnace with a nice new efficient gas one for someone else to use. What curtains would a prospective buyer like, to hell with what I like. The new flooring must be generic, something without my personality involved in it's selection. We are finally fixing the broken ice-maker in the fridge so someone else can use it. The list goes on.

The money we are using to do these repairs is from the equity in our house. The more of it spent, the less chance my soon-to-be-ex and I will have of possibly buying a house when we split. We may each have to rent if neither of us can come up with a big enough down payment for a new home of our own. All this money we are spending so someone else can enjoy this house is money out of our pockets robbing us of the possibility of getting and enjoying a house for each of us. I am fixing this house up so someone else can enjoy their own place, cutting my own throat as to my being able to have my own place to enjoy.

For these reasons my house has become a home, a loveless, insecure and generic place to reside.