Marathon runners will often refer to "the wall". This is the moment when the runner questions his/her ability to continue or the ultimate fatigue during a race sets in.
I consider this renovation a marathon of sorts; complete with the aforementioned "wall" . Like a runner, I have moments of euphoria. As I tear the place apart I feel a sense of "I can do this, I am doing this". Surely those competitive runners have moments of despair. Maybe the onset of a blister or a nagging ache that won't quite quit. I too have those emotions when I find yet another repair that is required. And, of course, there is the onset of fatigue. This house is no newborn baby or the 24th mile of the 26.2 mile race but it is mentally and physically tiresome. So last night I experienced what I would like to deem the "home-renovator's-wall". I hit that thing like a highway bug on the windshield. SPLAT!!!! The figurative title is now in play. Now, it may very well have been the mounting realization that there is still so much to do. It may also have been the lack of notable progress. It's easy to see accomplishment when you open walls and see one another across the 1400 square feet house. But when you're stuck in the same 6x6 foot hallway and turn around on yourself again and again like a clumsy ice skater...that, my friend, is not progress. That spells B-R-E-A-K-D-O-W-N. I tend to have these moments occasionally. Jeff says I don't do well in "limbo". This is not limbo in my opinion. This is an abyss between start and semi-homemade.
Remember how I said home renovation can be tiresome? I don't feel tired...I feel utter exhaustion. During the day I work as a sign language interpreter at a high school. Summer school is now in session so my hours are part time. I rise at 6:30 a.m., out the door by 7:10 and in class by 8...work, work, work and head for the house. It's important to clarify that interpreting is a physical job. Moving your hands and arms around requires a level of exertion...not to mention the same muscles and joints required in home renovations. So, like I said, I finish up at school and drive straight for the house. I get there around 1pm and work until 7 or 8 at night. If you did the math this amounts to roughly 12 hour days. I am, by no means, complaining. This analysis is pertinent when we explore the literal mean for "the wall". Fatigue has a way of affecting your judgment. That judgement can be anything from over-exerting yourself or, like me, pinching my index finger between "the wall" and the sledgehammer. The literal interpretation of this wall is what sent me over the edge today. I hit the wall literally and figuratively.
Jeff knows my temper. Bless this man for marrying me...but my father-in-law hasn't seen the wrath that will erupt when I have done something stupid. My true colors came out. No expletives, no crying, no screams or wailing...it was a silent, white hot temper that festered as I walked out to the front porch to access my injury. Like a wounded animal I like to be left alone. I don't want to be coddled or consoled...I want to berate myself for the stupid move and fester. Jeff knows to just leave me alone and let me be. Roger, my father-in-law, didn't know of this. I didn't snap or yell at him but merely shrugged it off and went back into the house. It was only then that he saw the rage as I kicked the sledge into the air and across the hallway smack into the "wall". I didn't care that this hurt my foot...this damn inanimate object was partially to blame.
What have I learned from this moment. At times I'm like a splattered bug, a clumsy skater, or an animal. More importantly I've learned that you can hit a wall but it is also there to lean on. A wall can also be something to hold you up. It carries the weight to the foundation. Instead of hitting the wall I need to remember sometimes I need to know when enough is enough, pack it in and head home. It also help to have a cold beer in the fridge...works wonders on all accounts.
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