Demolition, Day 3

Today started off well enough, save for the fact that I’m fiercely allergic to the drywall dust I’m kicking up in this here row home. Avoid dust and cats, my doctor tells me, which he must realize is completely impractical advice for anyone who isn’t living in a hermetically sealed chamber with no friends. If you have friends, they are cat people. I call this Mittens’ Law.

Anyway, my strategy for today was to don a dust mask and then wrap my face with a silk bandanna. It looked about as sexy as you think it did.

I finished removing the craft room closets this morning. Look at all the extra space I have! “Doesn’t look like much,” you’re probably thinking, but keep in mind that I took this shot while pressed up against the opposite wall. A few extra feet makes a difference in a space this small. The room could now accommodate a full size bed instead of just a twin, which I will remind myself is good for resale value as I repetitively flush out my nasal cavities with saline over the next week.

Eventually, when the drywall is patched and painted, I’ll reassemble my cheapo Ikea ANEDOBA wardrobe (created by the Ikea designer with the winning-est name, Tord Bjorklund) and use that for storage. In the extra space I’d love to include one of these convertible ottomans by Hollandia:

I’d use it as a dressing bench, but it also folds out to make a little bed! That’s about as close to a guest room setup as I’ll ever get. Unfortunately, it’s way out of my price range. A girl can dream…

While I was still swathed in bandanna I decided to tackle the drop ceiling in the master bedroom. This is where things got a little hairy.

I suppose I thought that the blue and poo ceiling was so ugly, whatever was lurking behind it couldn’t be that bad. But as I started pulling down the drywall boards I got a series of fun surprises.

The original ceiling is in really rough shape. It sags dramatically towards the middle of the room, and I fear that I (or my Dad and I, or a contractor and I) will have to remove it completely and start from scratch.

Additionally, the second ceiling was constructed… questionably. Is “questionably” is a good word to encompass the fact this beam appears to be suspended from a screw with florist wire? Also, as I yanked one of the panels down, the brick pictured above went sailing past my head. Perhaps the florist wire was necessary to counteract the weight of the brick booby trap. It all makes sense. If you’re a Collyer brother.

To avoid sleeping under that terrifying sagging disaster and to stay as far away from the dust as possible, I have set up camp in the dining room. The booze is practically an arms-length away! And I’m going to need it!