Remodeling house/life

I've been here in North Carolina since the first week in November. I arrived to find a total wreck of a house (the same house I lived in while I was in college) with a basement in mid-remodel, and covered in thinset dust and concrete. So for the last three weeks I've been working on it. I wish I had pictures of the disaster it was... it can only be approximated by this image, which I took with my phone the last time I worked on the house.

Cinder-block walls, paneling removed, half-studs still attached. Bare concrete floors.

And... here's what I have so far.

Downstairs den, hearthside view

Random space beside den, possibly for musical instruments?

I'm also getting ready to replace the nasty fluorescent lights with nice, soft recess lights. I'm also raising the ceiling by an inch and building an enclosure for that unsightly pipe in the corner. I'm considering built-in shelves against the far (currently white) wall above the baseboard heating, but we'll see what scraps I have lying around... and what kind of motivation Mike and I have left once this is finished. I can't possibly thank him enough for helping me with all of this. Like I could hang sheetrock by myself. Bah!

I'm sick of painting. My life (read: arms) is/are currently saturated with stretchy latex of varying colors... mostly beiges. Cutting the monotony slightly is the nice shade of green that I used in my bedroom, which is shown on the left and complete with multiple boxes yet to be unpacked, dog in kennel, and ferret on bed. Since I moved down here, my ferret (whose name is Rascal) has decided to be my bedmate. It's great, but I'm also slightly afraid I'm going to squash him in my sleep. Tucker, my german shepherd, is not so cuddly. He prefers his wire box. And really, that's fine with me. Who wants to be displaced, pushed, or otherwise jostled by a meaty-legged puppy? Not I. Love the crate. If only Tucker's aversion to sleeping on the bed would keep him from jumping up to nuzzle me with muddy paws. The quilt shown here was NOT on my bed yesterday... that one is the lump thrown on top of Tucker's crate, pending the motivation to wash it.






















When this is all over I have no idea what I'll do. Since becoming a professor of Psychology turned out to be an unpalatable option, I've been toying with the idea of becoming a trainer and instructor for service dogs and individuals with traumatic brain injuries (or TBIs). I've also been reading up on the penniless-ness of this career path. It's not attractive.

Maybe I'll become a rock star like Amanda Palmer and travel around the country being awesome with a keyboard, a ridiculous outfit, and occasionally a ukulele. Until then, I think I'll content myself with going to as many of her shows as I can... and then some. Like the one in Orlando, which is in two weeks. I'm more than excited about going to this... I am thrilled. I'm looking forward to seeing an old friend and immersing myself in a new place - I need this occasionally. It reminds me that my being is not always shackled to a place, and that I am, to some extent, a floating entity with the freedom to go anywhere. Basically, I'm Sal Paradise. That's all I have for now.