Reno (No, not Nevada)

It has begun. We have stared into the abyss, and the abyss has stared back. Next, the walls come down. Yes, we're renovating.

Oh, not just any old remodel, either. That's for sissies. Paint? Wallpaper? Flooring? Pfft, don't make me laugh. We're using hammers and wrecking bars and smashing and roaring. We're finally taking this son of a bitch down to bare studs. It's time.

What else can you do with aluminum wiring that was installed by monkeys? Can you fix plumbing that was planned using horoscopes? Every single kitchen plug on one circuit? Go figure that out. No, the only solution is to wreck it.

We've been asked why we don't "just move". First of all, there's no such thing as "just" moving. Then, too, there's the fact that every other house in existence has somebody else's problems built in. At least we know exactly what's wrong with this place (everything), and can precisely define its limits and solutions (knock it down, do it again). Moving into another house only reasserts the unspecified dread of the unknown. We need that? Like another hole in the head.

We've been urged to "just build new". Again with the "just", as if some vague hand-waving and high hopes will make hundreds of thousands of dollars appear, because our heart is pure. We already have good real estate, and a pool. Those things are handy in a desert climate, and expensive to boot. It makes more sense to stay put.

That, in short, is why we are taking this mad plunge. Can't live with the house, can't sell it, can't fix it. It has to go. Now.