I Thought This was Supposed to be a Comedy...

I will not throw my power tools across the room
I will not throw my power tools across the room
I will not throw my power tools across the room
I will not throw my power tools across the room
I will not throw my power tools across the room...


Lately I think my "Comedy" is turning into a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare himself. I have been working like mad to get the ceiling in K's room drywalled, before T (okay I can't stand this Acronym business, I'm just going to call him Tom) gets home. He stated before he left that he was NOT going to do the ceiling. I decided that we were. So I waited until he left and then I went to the new hardware store down the street and bought a bunch of quarter inch Sheetrock. The first part wasn't so hard, I had help, (my tall daughter and her tall ex boyfriend) and the ceiling was low. It changes angles at about four feet in and goes from slanted and low to straight across and nine feet high. So I got most of it done before he came home.
Today I went in today to finish the high part. (I did some last night, all by myself, to my own amazement)
Things soon got difficult. I would carry the four by four feet pieces up on my head, making sure I had the screwdriver at the top of the ladder and plenty of screws, go to the top and use my head and forearm to hold it in place while I used the other arm to load the screwdriver and screw the piece on. I found myself using increasingly vulgar words. The screws kept falling out of the screwdriver and off of the ladder and I couldn't hold the Sheet rock straight. My back and arms were killing me. The screws didn't want to go into the old hard wood. I began to feel sorry for myself. I started muttering angrily out loud. I felt even sorrier for myself when nobody came to find out what I was muttering about. I knew I had lost control when I began stabbing one of the pieces of Sheetrock with my screwdriver. Over and over I let it have it. Then I threw my screwdriver from the top of the ladder across the room. Then I quit.
Hours later, sitting here recounting my experience, I find myself chuckling. Maybe it is a comedy after all. Of course I am ashamed that I let myself get so out of control. I should NEVER have thrown my power tool. (not the first time, though, last week, I threw it down onto a pile of Sheetrock four deep and it landed point down like a pole with a screwdriver flag. That WAS kind of funny.
The ceiling should be completed by tomorrow evening. I just have some small pieces down either side of the room. All the big pieces are up. All I have to do is mud and tape and the room will be ready for paint. And I promise not to throw the paint brush across the room...unless I have PMS -then I make no promises...