My Bed

I carried my bed to the curb last week and threw it out. It had been consumed by my house's mold problem. Man, I hadn't known the mold thing was that bad.

That was the bed I had built myself. I went to The Home Depot (apparently the more ethical hardware emporium,) and picked the salesman's brain as to what cuts of wood I should purchase and how to attach them. When he advocated the use of a screw gun I said, "What would Jesus do?" and he actually thought of glue before showing me the heavy-duty nails. I was pretty proud of myself when I finished making that nice, comfortable bed. Now it's gone.


You know what I need? An extreme home makeover. Oh, sure, I could get rid of a two-year-old mold infection by returning to the dehumidifying and air-purifying tactics I had used before my sister moved in and pulled the plug. But the house was doomed from the start. It's the same age as me, and the folks who built it probably had no idea that some silly people in the 21st century would still be using it as a house.

You know what Ima do? #1 Get an old van to sleep in; #2 Move ahead with plans to build a treehouse, budget permitting; #3 Do a really cool fundraiser towards a self-funded home makeover; #4 Meanwhile, I could find someone with a home video camera and make a video for the Extreme Home Makeover show. My sister and I are pretty good-looking and that might give us an edge in the medium of video.

My job couldn't pay for home construction if I worked it until retirement age. The folks I work for are amazing because they work like dogs and have no professional future except more work and a few more nickels. Maybe top administrators get $22K or $25K (versus my $18K) but nobody seriously gets paid. They just take on so much responsibility as to proclaim that they deserve to be paid.