The Existential Toilet

I'm a creature of habit.

Currently, I'm a creature of habit without a toilet.

Well, technically I have one -- upstairs in my house -- but the one on the first floor is completely gutted and looking incredibly rough.

That's right, tax time in the Smith household means home renovations!

So, for the next week or two the four of us in the house will all be sharing my daughter's 40 sq ft rectangle that she calls a bathroom, complete with 36" x 36" shower that is barely big enough for me, let alone my tall wife.

I've been grumpy. I failed to think through the ramifications of having to share way too much space with every other member of my family. I'm not a social person and no longer having a first floor bathroom has turned me into something of a bear.

During the day when the contractors are here I've been taking my soon to be 4 year old upstairs with me to hang out. We have 4 bedrooms upstairs, and a movie theater! Yet, this kid isn't happy. He wants to come downstairs and watch the workers, which I won't allow him to do. It's loud, the air is full of dust and insulation particles, and it's just unpleasant and he doesn't need to be underfoot.

So, now he's grumpy too.

I've been contemplating my recent angst and attempting to find a further meaning in it. I think it's just a loss of power and control in a situation and no longer feeling completely comfortable in a place that has always been extremely safe.

I'm having an existential crisis...over a toilet. It's not the toilet, itself, it's what the toilet represents. It represents gleaming, pristine, porcelain freedom to be able to roam my house and not have to tiptoe upstairs to take care of business when everyone is asleep. It's about being able to shower and groom on my own schedule instead of the twenty allotted minutes that I currently have!

The real question, though, is why does any of that matter? It's not a big deal, really! So why does it needle me so much?

It's like I'm living at home with my parents, twenty five years ago. I suddenly feel like I am on a clockwork schedule, have zero privacy, and have a mountain of things to do that I can't get done because someone is constantly in my way!

It's affecting my writing schedule, too, and that really throws me into a snit. Last week it was my poor, fluffy kitty boy tossing my writing into chaos. Now it's an ample-cracked plumber walking up and down the stairs all day, who's searching for leaky pipes and making sure that the water pressure is good for both bathrooms.

This isn't fun!

Yes, I will live.

Again, it's not a big deal. Somebody just needs to tell my brain it's not a big deal.

I miss my bathtub, too. *sigh*