Following the story from yesterday, Traci woke me this morning at 6:45am in a fragile state claiming that she’d been awake the past hour looking up stuff about asbestos on the Interwebs. She feared that, because our house was built in 1962, we had just awoken the sleeping beast within our walls.
After being informed by multiple sources that it was highly unlikely that our house contained asbestos in the bathroom tile/walls, she continued to insist that I complete the demolition on my own.
For my own safety, I stopped by Home Depot and picked up a good quality gas mask that claimed to be rated for asbestos work. I came home and went to work on the tile.
I had the bathroom door shut for quite awhile as I worked. Here I was in one of the smallest rooms in our house, weilding a hammer and chisel; wearing a gas mask, safety glasses, ear plugs, and work gloves; hearing only the sounds of my deep breathing and my cold chisel being driven through the 40+ year old ceramic tile.
After a few hours, I realized that I wasn’t in a good mood. I was far from it. I was ill. I was sullen. I began to see how solitary confinement could really wear on you after awhile. At least in solitary, you more than likely aren’t having to chisel tile from the floor.
One thing that was weighing on my mind was the bathroom sink. The more tile I removed from around it, the more I realized that this was the original sink that was built with the house. It wouldn’t budge. The base of the vanity extended beneath the tile and into the concrete foundation underneath. With each tile that I broke away, I began to consider how in the world I was going to get the sink/vanity out.
I finally got all the tile unattached from the walls and floor, and that’s when I took today’s picture. I was planning on going to bed after this, but decided I had some unfinished business with the f*cking vanity.
I stormed downstairs and got my crowbar. I shut the door to the bathroom and went to work.
Only me and the good Lord knows the things I did to that sink–though, Traci and Zeppelin who were trying to sleep in the next room probably have a good idea.
As I threw the last fragment of the vanity into the corner of the room, I realized that my mood had been lifted. Better than that, I felt great. I breathed a sigh of relief and then chuckled at how Vader-like my breathing sounded through the gas mask.
Other than cleaning up a few bits of tile and mortar the next day, the demolition was done. The hardest part, in my mine, was over. Even though there was still a lot of work to be done.