Late last year, the ceiling above my bed collapsed. I wasn't home when it happened. So what started out as this:
Turned into this (though by this time, we'd taken down the walls and some of the lath):
You can see the attic windows in that picture. Here's a better one of the attic windows:
And in general, my bedroom is a little messy:
Taking down the ceiling was the hardest part, because then we had to deal with insulation coming down from the attic. Here's David in his
Smurf costume protective scrubs, taking down part of the ceiling:
And if you've never breathed in insulation before... ugh, I can't describe it very well. We both had masks on -- and not just the disposable dust masks, but the rubber ones with respirators -- and we still had trouble breathing. Oh, and it's fucking itchy as hell if you get it in your clothes. Once, after a particularly grueling demo session, I had to take an emergency shower, clean out my nose with Q-tips, and break out the Neti pot. I hope all the really attractive men read that last sentence. AWWWW YEAHHHH
Anyway, David's been the one working on it, for the most part. He tore out all the plaster and lath, and then he's going to put up drywall. All I've really done is choose new paint colors and work out some aggression during the demolition.
When we were about done with demo, David hauled out about eight 150 lb. (68 kg) bags of rubble to the curb, where the garbage men left them for several weeks. We would watch, each week, as we were leaving from work: the garbage truck driving slowly past our house, our curb, the bags of plaster. We then dragged them back to the alley, which is where our trash is normally picked up, and there the bags sat for another several weeks. We even had them in the city-issued garbage can, with the cute little Garbage For Dummies arrow on the top of the can to tell you which way to face it as to make our glorious trash dudes' jobs easier. And now our trash can is a Forever Alone: each Tuesday morning, it gazes expectantly at the truck chugging down the alley, wondering if this will be the day when it finally gets some attention, and then the trash truck is like "nah lol," leaving our trash can heartbroken and misled.
At this point, we were both thinking that if a couple of city slickers (lol) like us could drag bags the size of... well, me... down the stairs and to the front curb, and then haul them nearly an acre to the alleyway, then surely, three burly garbage men could toss them up two feet into their truck. Right?
David called the city about it, and there weren't any records as to why our garbage men -- oh, excuse me, "waste management facilitators" -- are completely ignoring us. Like our trash isn't good enough for them.
We are now in the process of borrowing my dad's Chevy, throwing the bags in the back, and driving them to the city dump, where leaving trash costs us a fee. When I'm already paying a utility bill for trash service. Awesome.
At least, for now, it seems that we're on the tail end of construction. I'll be sure to post pictures of the finished room.