I Hate My Kitchen Too
Josh was flipping through channels on the television when he paused on an image of a couple talking about demolishing their kitchen. The show was aptly named “I Hate My Kitchen,” and I sat down on the edge of the bed, whispering aloud, “I hate my kitchen too,” as if we were all in a support group and this was the point where we go around the room and introduce ourselves.
We’re about to do some major renovations to our house, things that we’ve been putting off for years. The number one reason we’ve put it off this long is that my ennui has always been stronger than my desire to love my kitchen. I want to love my kitchen, but I’m also not really into thinking about my dream kitchen or making it happen. I guess what I really want is someone from the DIY Network to come in, make me a cup of tea, and give me about two choices for everything we need to replace. And then tell me what to do. Or better yet, do it themselves. And then call me back in to see it when they’re done.
But we’ve entered into the orbit of home repair, and now we are spinning through a galaxy of hardware stores and estimates and cabinet configurations. We’ve become the sort of people who critique and covet from other people’s houses. You know how when you start treatments (and I imagine adoption is the same way), it becomes your entire being? It takes over your calendar and your worries. You start carrying around a notebook with you so you can record what your RE says when he calls, and you have a timer going off to tell you when to do your next injection, and you read Resolve newsletters, and you hang out with others who are going through the same thing. I realized that since we walked away from treatments the second time, we haven’t really had something like that which takes over your whole life in that manner. But redoing the house? It’s about as close as we’ve come again to being consumed. It’s trading one project for another: Operation Family Building has now morphed into Operation Home Repair.
I’ve begun to dream about real estate. I had a dream where we decided that it was easier to buy a new house rather than redo the one we own, but when I started checking housing prices in the area, we found that even tiny fixer-uppers in shitty areas of Maryland were priced at 63 MILLION DOLLARS. But one of the houses overlooked a baseball diamond, and I realized that for 63 million dollars, I could have a front row seat to baseball games from the comfort of my own back deck.
I’ve also found a site where you can purchase private islands. I found one nearby for only $850,000. That seemed like a fairly good deal for a private island, no? The whole home renovation project has gotten me more and more obsessed with the idea of moving to a private island, as if repainting a kitchen somehow reprograms your brain to suddenly crave more real estate like a zombie wanting to feast on the contents of your skull. Must get real estate. Must get real estate that reflects my antisocial tendencies and love of water. Brains…
So that’s where we are. Coveting. Dreading. Wasting work time trying to get the house repaired.