My kitchen demoliton project starts on Tuesday. Purchases of Maple Cabinets, Quartz countertops, expensive stainless steel appliances, "fancy-assed" light fixtures, dimmers, red-oak, finished floors throughout the house, and Persian rugs, and energy efficient windows downstairs, and upstairs, endless shopping, bartering, wringing of hands, gnashing of teeth...and there's the money factor...This sucks!...Oh!...Woe is me!
No more sitting in my lazy boy chair, after a hearty meal in the afternoons, where I could fall asleep and drool down my chin. The endless pounding, tearing, ripping, and sounds of destruction and construction will force me out of my realm. I must live on Subway Submarine sandwiches and hide in my basement. Thank God, if it ever gets finished. I can still use my puter, but the noise!..Oy-Vey! The God awful noise...I can't stand to think about it.
Maybe after lunch, I can mosey on down to the Public Library, in order to sleep in one of their lounge chairs. The way I dress and the way I snore...(like a freight train), may lead to my early ejection from this comfort. They probably will think I am a homeless person. I could possibly rent a room and pay by the week in a transient hotel, like Charles Bukowski. Maybe my writing would be more inspired by such environs. My wife says: "For Chrissakes, just grin and bear it! You are such a structured recluse!" Maybe she is right. I need to add a little style to my mundane life. I should take up golf...Join a Country Club...Trade in my beater RAV4 for a nice BMW convertible. I don't think so!
I like who I am. I am a curmudgeon...A simple fool with simple tastes. I like torn T-shirts, and holes in my jeans. I like to rule my peasant's roost. I don't need fancy things, and don't care about keeping up with the Jones'es. I don't even talk to my neighbors. I can make it through this renovation ordeal. I know I can! Maybe I can fly to Amsterdam for six weeks! I know I'd have fun there! Naw, my wife would put her foot down on this great idea. I am damned for six weeks. That's the long and short of it. Sometimes I feel like Kurt Vonnegut's, Billy Pilgrim. So it goes.