Bath Rehab.

As in: when your project drives you to drink.

The walls have been sheetrocked.
The wedi board is in the shower.
The tub is in.
The heated floor has been installed.

Floor leveler has been poured.

We are ready for tile. This should be a good thing. But instead, we don’t have any, and all progress has ground to a halt. Nothing else can happen. Until there is a floor. It’s my sole mission in life and I no longer even care about it. Now, when the tile clerks ask if I have a price range? I say no—show me the most hideously expensive tile you have. Shock me.

I have lost all will to continue looking for tile. Seriously. It has made me crazy. And the bad thing about being made crazy over tile is this: you cannot explain to anyone what a problem it is, without sounding utterly pretentious. You cannot explain the exhaustion, the frustration, the draining fatigue, the futility of shopping for flooring… without revealing that you have no personal depth, and are a sad, hollow, characterless being.

Even Paul has abandoned me. I can tell that he is gritting his teeth and counseling himself that there is no good to come of being aggravated at my indecision. And? Just to irritate him, I continue to photograph small tiles. And show them to him, and explain all over again why I cannot have small tile.