Sheetrock is up. Mud is going up as we speak. Yep, it's 9pm on a Friday and mud is going up. And I'm here writing, which means I'm not doing it. And neither is Scott. He's putting the kids to bed in a tent in the backyard.
We hired out the basement drywall. The drywaller came highly recommended by good friends who know what they're talking about. And we could afford him. And we couldn't afford to do it ourselves. That would probably mean doing it twice (like everything else -- do it, rip it apart, do it over). It might have meant some serious roadblocks for our marriage.
So I'm glad we hired it out. But now I feel like a slacker because this guy? The one who showed up at 8:30 this morning as part of the crew to hang the drywall? He's still here. He's the mudder of the group and he's been working for about 12 and a half hours. He took about 45 minutes for lunch. Other than that, there've been no breaks.
Have you ever worked that hard in your life? I think if you're the kind of person who would read a blog on your personal computer, the answer is probably no. Oh, sure, maybe you've put in 12 hour days at the office, but 12 hours of physical labor (with who knows how many more to come)? I doubt it.
I know I haven't put in time like that. Not even close. Probably not even half. And if I did, I'd probably complain so much someone would put me out of my misery. One way or another.
So I'm amazed. And I've offered the guy water, a coke, even a beer. He won't take any of it. He just keeps strutting around down there on stilts slapping mud up on the walls and ceiling faster than I could imagine doing it. And I do imagine things like that. I spend a lot of time standing in the middle of a room staring at the walls trying to figure out how I'm going to build/paint/trim/etc. In no case would I have imagined mudding as fast or efficiently as he is.
I'm a little bit in awe. And humbled. It's a good feeling.