Breakdown
So on Sunday, the shower got fixed.
It's a simple thing to say, yet so much more went into it. The whole process took several weeks, at least 4 people were involved, close to $100 total was spent on parts, and an emotional breakdown took place.
On Saturday, Monica bought a new shower faucet assembly so I could install it. Sounded like a piece of cake. All the pieces were there, it would just be a matter of taking the old faucet out and installing the new one. Oh, how naive I am.
First off, I was in a terrible state of mind on Sunday. I've been getting dizzy spells again, similar to when I was diagnosed with Meniere's disease. I don't know if it's because of stress, or meds, or something else. It's not blood pressure, I've checked it several times and its always been within normal range. Anyway, I was dizzy and not in a great state of mind. Monica REALLY wanted the faucet replaced, so I tried. I tried. Monica shut all the water off for me. The handles and spigot came off pretty easily. The trouble started when I realized that the shower hookups behind the wall were in the basement stairwell. I got the wooden ladder, a rickety thing that I can't remember where we got it, from the car port and set it up at the bottom of the stairs. It made me nervous because I couldn't set it flat on the floor because the tile in the basement doesn't run all the way to the wall, so it was half on tile, half on the concrete floor. After adjusting the position of the ladder several times, De came and held the ladder for me. I know I took something off, I can't remember what now, but then I got to the nuts that held the hot and cold water lines. I could NOT get them to budge. I used my pipe wrench, no luck. I climb on the the step you aren't supposed to use on the ladder to get more leverage, no luck. I put the pipe wrench on the nut and smacked the handle with a hammer, no luck. Everything I tried, failed. And that's when my childhood came rushing back to me.
Growing up, I was always the kid that got picked on. I don't remember how it started, maybe I deserved some of it, I don't know. I got teased a lot. Relentless teasing, as only children can do. It affected me, it stuck with me. I am WEAK. I am UGLY. I am STUPID. Those are the big three. And I grew to believe it, true or not. I still do.
So I'm on this rickety ladder, try to turn these damn nuts, without success. I am WEAK. I am a FAILURE. I couldn't figure it out. I am STUPID. Maybe if I stared at them long enough, my ugly could have melted them off, but I didn't have that kind of time. (I jest. Everyone knows ugly just turns things to stone. Ask Medusa.)
I gave up. I couldn't do it. I got down off the ladder, went upstairs, sat down on the couch, and cried. A middle aged man of 45, crying because he couldn't turn some bolts. Monica remained objective, and asked her father to come over to help, then tried to ask me what I was feeling. How do I explain that shit that happened to me 35 years ago still affects me today? How do I explain, while I am in tears over it, that having someone else come fix my failure is just rubbing salt in my wounded pride? How do I explain, in my current state of mind, anything?
So Monica's dad comes over, waves his masculinity around and magically removes the old faucet and puts the new one in it's place. I put the knobs and spigot on, Monica turns the water back on and ta daa, the shower works. What a relief.
It's a simple thing to say, yet so much more went into it. The whole process took several weeks, at least 4 people were involved, close to $100 total was spent on parts, and an emotional breakdown took place.
On Saturday, Monica bought a new shower faucet assembly so I could install it. Sounded like a piece of cake. All the pieces were there, it would just be a matter of taking the old faucet out and installing the new one. Oh, how naive I am.
First off, I was in a terrible state of mind on Sunday. I've been getting dizzy spells again, similar to when I was diagnosed with Meniere's disease. I don't know if it's because of stress, or meds, or something else. It's not blood pressure, I've checked it several times and its always been within normal range. Anyway, I was dizzy and not in a great state of mind. Monica REALLY wanted the faucet replaced, so I tried. I tried. Monica shut all the water off for me. The handles and spigot came off pretty easily. The trouble started when I realized that the shower hookups behind the wall were in the basement stairwell. I got the wooden ladder, a rickety thing that I can't remember where we got it, from the car port and set it up at the bottom of the stairs. It made me nervous because I couldn't set it flat on the floor because the tile in the basement doesn't run all the way to the wall, so it was half on tile, half on the concrete floor. After adjusting the position of the ladder several times, De came and held the ladder for me. I know I took something off, I can't remember what now, but then I got to the nuts that held the hot and cold water lines. I could NOT get them to budge. I used my pipe wrench, no luck. I climb on the the step you aren't supposed to use on the ladder to get more leverage, no luck. I put the pipe wrench on the nut and smacked the handle with a hammer, no luck. Everything I tried, failed. And that's when my childhood came rushing back to me.
Growing up, I was always the kid that got picked on. I don't remember how it started, maybe I deserved some of it, I don't know. I got teased a lot. Relentless teasing, as only children can do. It affected me, it stuck with me. I am WEAK. I am UGLY. I am STUPID. Those are the big three. And I grew to believe it, true or not. I still do.
So I'm on this rickety ladder, try to turn these damn nuts, without success. I am WEAK. I am a FAILURE. I couldn't figure it out. I am STUPID. Maybe if I stared at them long enough, my ugly could have melted them off, but I didn't have that kind of time. (I jest. Everyone knows ugly just turns things to stone. Ask Medusa.)
I gave up. I couldn't do it. I got down off the ladder, went upstairs, sat down on the couch, and cried. A middle aged man of 45, crying because he couldn't turn some bolts. Monica remained objective, and asked her father to come over to help, then tried to ask me what I was feeling. How do I explain that shit that happened to me 35 years ago still affects me today? How do I explain, while I am in tears over it, that having someone else come fix my failure is just rubbing salt in my wounded pride? How do I explain, in my current state of mind, anything?
So Monica's dad comes over, waves his masculinity around and magically removes the old faucet and puts the new one in it's place. I put the knobs and spigot on, Monica turns the water back on and ta daa, the shower works. What a relief.
posted by Tom at 11:27 AM
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