It’s becoming clear to me that the longer you live with something, the less inlined you are to change it. Is it that my job is hectic right now? Is it the apathy of mid-winter? You’d think that with the continuation of the writer’s strike and the dearth of good TV, I’d just get off my butt and strip that bathroom floor. I mean, really, is there ever going to be another time of such lackluster drivel? It’s a golden opportunity for takin’ care of business. Even Kiefer took advantage of this downtime to do his jail stint.
But not me.
In fact, a few months ago I was talking big about heat guns and the like. Now I don’t even notice the fading linoleum, the off-centered medicine chest, or the odd plaster holes near the toilet base. So the sink isn’t exactly plumbed in and the fake gold wall sconces are drooping–oh well! I used to be a regular at the Home Depot, but I haven’t been there in weeks. The prospect of wrapping the water heater used to get me excited, but now I’d rather read my New Yorker.
Is this decline in house energy normal? Where did all my initial enthusiasm and spirit go? Is the honeymoon of home-ownership over? Are the house and I settling into some kind of middle-aged routine?I think that the house and I need a romantic weekend together with some new house magazines and that coupon form Bed, Bath, and Beyond to restoke the fires of inspiration and renovation.
And, if that doesn’t work, I guess there’s always American Gladiator.