Last night Clay told me I am the Tasmanian Devil at starting projects. He imitated me hammering out walls, slapping up paint, ripping up carpet all accompanied by snarls and gurgles.

I was so not listening to his jabbering. I was calmly trying to explain that I was going to take the sawsall, that has been adorning the dining room buffet for the past week nestled between marble eggs and pastel decorations, to the rotted wood in the wall to get the wall project FINISHED!

Clay went on to explain that in my hand the sawsall would become a weapon of mass destruction. He knows if I get that tool in my hand I won’t be able to stop cutting.

So, he might be right.

I am the starter.

He is the finisher.

I told him that his comparing me to the Tasmanian Devil was funny, but pissing me off. Because, I just want that rotten wood out of the wall and that tool is sitting right there and couldn’t he just pick the dadgum thing up, plug it in, and start hacking away?

No. He can’t. He has to draw detailed diagrams, purchase tools and supplies that aren’t needed, but mostly, he needs to contemplate. For days or months and at times it has been years. The man likes to think about his projects. Or should I say, my projects. After all, if I wouldn’t have started pulling down wallpaper the moment I walked in the door of this house, well, we wouldn’t have the gaping wound in the wall in the first place. Now would we?

Okay, I won’t use the dadblam sawsall. But, I might go get a wood chisel out of the barn and see how much of the rotten wood I can dig out with that, so there!