Continued work on the house is crushing. I image I’m feeling similar to those who see the end of the marathon and, despite the miles they’ve already covered, are certain they can’t walk another step. I try to motivate myself by reviewing what is completed: emptying the house, basement, and garage; taking most things to Goodwill and putting the rest in storage;removing all the art and photography and patching all the drywall holes; first-floor bathroom remodel; Constance’s bathroom remodel; painting Constance’s old bedroom; painting what was to be Constance’s new bedroom; painting the guest bedroom; painting the north first-floor hallway; replacing all the old vents in the house; caulking all the baseboards; replacing all the old outlet covers with new pretty ones, etc., etc., etc.
Still, the things I must do and should do loom over me. Yesterday, I worked on the house for a mere eight hours then went home to drink too much and take a nap. When I woke at 10 pm, I went back to the house to resume the work. On my way, I saw that Target was open and thought I’d pop in for a drink and a few odds and ends. When I finished shopping, I realized I’d forgotten my wallet. I found a checkbook and a passport in my bag but the cashier didn’t know how to take checks with a passport. I left empty handed, went back to get my wallet, and then returned to the house.
I just want to get it in good enough shape that the realtor can list it and I can stop going back there. It is so depressing improving things for strangers. Whichever family moves in will never know I started the bathroom remodeling for my beloved Constance but finished it for them. They won’t know the memories created in the house or the hearts broken in it. It is probably better that way. They can make their own memories without the ghosts of our lost future casting a looming shadow over them.