I estimated that our tiling job would take two days. S estimated three days. We both acknowledged that home improvement projects typically take twice the planned amount of time. So S was closer to the mark. We’re now at day seven. Gah.
On Saturday night, we were almost ready to tile and I was very enthusiastic. But there were planning and logistics to attend to, and as S messed about in CAD, I grew increasingly impatient and sleepy and eventually lost all motivation and went to bed. I awoke on Sunday with renewed energy, declaring I’d finish the job by noon. Actual finish time? 10:30 p.m.
I have to say though that irrational optimism like this is the only thing that propels me through massive tasks like this. And as miserable as it is to be in the trenches – or tub, in this case – covered with adhesive and surrounded by bajillions of gleaming tiles waiting to be set, I look at the result and am just thrilled. This is one of the best projects we’ve completed, and we’ve left virtually no surface untouched in our house over the last six years.
Don’t judge by this non-transition, but I swear it’s not too much of a leap to equate irrational optimism vis a vis home improvement projects with the same attitude towards writing. Writing is likewise an epic slog, filled with unexpected revelations, costly mistakes, and irritatingly slow going. Conscientious planning helps, yes, but cannot fully conquer the strange shitstorms and barriers one’s own self throws up to impede progress.
… I sense that my metaphor is breaking down. Rather than try to wrestle it into submission, I think I’m just going to go seal my grout.