the fallacy of screwing things up on your own

My sort of mantra of late is, "We could have effed this up by ourselves for free!" Technically, that's true. We're real good at effing things up around here. Check out the exemplary job we did effing up the trim for our new window and its adjoining siding:



However, the truth when I admit it is that we're capable of a whole different order of effing things up. I wouldn't put it past us to eff things up in such a way that the entire house falls down on our heads.

I've got a couple of loans this week for things that it is probably possible to DIY. I feel ok with this, because, really, you can DIY anything. The person you hire to do the job that seems intimidating is just another person, and at some point he or she - like you - knew absolutely jack about heating and air conditioning systems or torch-down bitumen or whatever. On the other hand, he or she has been practicing and you have just been sitting at your makeshift kitchen half deep in a bottle of wine reading home improvement manuals featuring photos of people who are suspiciously kempt and five-fingered. So while you may feel like a bit of a failure when you consider all the things you're hiring out, some resigned, less romantic part of you recognizes that this is just good sense.

When this whole renovation thing is done (and I am fully aware, thank you, of the curse I've put on myself merely typing out those words) I may be expert in some aspect of home improvement. Maybe even a couple. But there is no way I plan to be at this long enough to become expert in all of them. Therefore, I am strongly considering paying someone who goes by "Shorty" (no last name) to cut a hole in the ceiling. The attic needs to be enlarged so the furnace can fit up there.

There doesn't seem to be anything really complicated about enlarging the attic. A beam needs to be cut. Some electricity stapled to the beam needs to be moved. A header needs to be attached across the cut beams to the adjoining beams. Simple, non-technical. The reason I am screwing around on my blog at the moment instead of performing this essentially straight-forward task is that IT'S THE GODDAMNED CEILING. And, as previously mentioned, I don't want the roof to collapse on my head. Whenever we get anywhere near structural-with-a-capital-S, my DIY resolve goes soft on me and dudes named Shorty-no-last-name telling me things I already know begin to sound convincing.

Part of me is certain that I will hire Shorty, he will do the work late, and the ceiling will be left noticeably sagging. And that when that happens I will stand underneath a ragged hole with my hands on my hips, looking up and saying, "We could have effed this up for free on our own." And I'll be pissed, but I'll still think it's kind of funny, because when the worst happens, the worst won't actually be that bad.

the insurmountably insignificant

I know I've already said it, but this week has cemented my belief that the DIY impulse is born out of frustration with contractors. We hired the drywall guy on Monday and he began the two-day job on Tuesday. Today he finished up, leaving us to do the final sanding. The quality of the work is far from perfect and he made a huge mess of the brand new tile, but I verified that it'll all clean off and paid him, just so I wouldn't be stuck waiting around for him to finish the work.

The hall bathroom - only shower for the four of us living here - now has walls, and those walls are primered. Tomorrow we paint, and then hopefully I can get the plumber to come install the toilet and sink Monday.

In addition to painting, tomorrow's work schedule includes demoing the 6'x7' area off the kitchen that's been designated the laundry-room-to-be and patching the wall outside the hall bathroom which is still covered in OSB and plastic with legitimate looking siding material.

There's a problem, though, in getting so close with the bathroom. It's a distraction. I need to be thinking about self-leveling concrete and instead I'm thinking about crown moulding. It's hard to move on to the next task because the bathroom is finally at a stage where I can envision how it'll look finished. I want to lay slate tiles down on the seat of the window and trim the door, as much to cover up the places where the paint and drywall are flawed as to indulge any kind of Martha Stewart impulse.

Fortunately, I can't get too dangerously off track because two big tasks are now underway: the roof and the HVAC. I meet with the bank next week to confirm that I have financing for both of these, which should be the last mind-boggling expenses that'll be necessary for a while. They'll also allow us to survive the winter. Even though I'm paying both of these contractors sums in the quintuple-digits, both jobs involve a significant amount of work on my end, both in coordination and in several things that need to go on in the attic.

The attic currently has loose insulation, with a modest R-7 rating. To qualify for the HVAC loan, I have to bring it up to R-38. I could just pile insulation on top of what's there, but there are some ceilings we don't want to drywall, and so it would be preferable to have something in the attic that won't create so much dust. Therefore, the very ambitious plan is to scoop out all the existing insulation while the roof's off. 1,400 square feet or so. I'm trying to look at it as an opportunity to get to know the one part of the house I haven't personally entered yet (I'm scared of heights and especially of ladders), but I think the more realistic view is that it's an opportunity to get insulation all over my yard while simultaneously not actually getting the attic clean.

It's daunting, especially because financing the very crucial heating system depends on it and because this all probably has to happen by the beginning of December. I have the beginning of next week off, though and, although I cringe at the thought of hiring anyone else, I know where the day laborers hang out.

week one

I think it's pretty telling that the last thing in the Google search box in my browser's toolbar is "austin pan am recreation center." Apparently a recreation center isn't something with a pool and showers, but I didn't know that and, a week ago, was searching desperately for the latter.

The shower is usable now and that fact alone makes the day before Halloween feel like it happened a month ago. The same bathroom's now been rewired, we've put a new faucet in a sink from Craigslist, and the plan tomorrow is to install a new insulated window. Once there are boards in the wall to support the medicine cabinet and sink, the drywall guys will come, followed by the plumber (because - having just replaced that room's rotted subfloor - I'm not taking any chances with leaky toilets). Once completed, that room will be worth something like six grand, and it's just one room. It's not an HVAC system or a new roof, things that have been bumped up to Emergency Status since we moved in and nearly froze to death overnight.

The list of things that need to happen before the new year is staggering. The next full room to tackle is the laundry room/master closet. That may sound like a trivial thing to be worrying about, but we're going through a lot of clothes. Tonight, while the rest of Austin is downtown at Fun Fun Fun Fest kickoff parties, we pulled down the drywall on the living room ceiling, which started to collapse during the last heavy rain. As with every other room in the house, the ceiling had been wallpapered with foiled linen, which had been containing the bands of dust that seeped through the cracks between the ceiling boards over the years. The carefully aged and sifted dust permeated everything by the time we were done, and now the hallway to our glamorous new slate bathroom is an air quality hazard.

I can't remember ever being this exhausted. I've been through difficult housing situations, but there was never any responsibility attached to them. I can't run away from this, and so it consumes my every waking thought. Each day that passes that I don't hear back from the roofers or the bank leaves me more frantic and distracted, and I do stupid things like buying two plates of tempered 3/8" glass of Craigslist (which I hope can somehow be made into shower doors).

Despite all the complaints, though, something feels weirdly right. The neighborhood's great, despite the high crime and the stray dogs everywhere. Living with roommates again is surprisingly comforting. And this house, and discovering everything I've discovered about it just pulling down drywall and ripping up floors, makes me feel connected to history in a way I never have. That right there may be the only reason I haven't lost my mind. The evidence is here that someone else went through all of this before. Whole generations of someones. And we haven't pulled their bones out from behind the shiplap, which means they made it.