The Beginning (of My Inevitable End)

Welcome, followers!

Here's the first installment of redesigning the parents' basement.

First lesson: If you have the go-ahead, take the time to hang dry wall and actually finish the basement properly.

I considered doing this... for about 5 seconds. And again, I think on it every now and then for another 5 seconds. Within 5 seconds I remember the extensive and continual water damage; the cost; the time; the lack of space; the lack of my know-how; and the lack of people willing to help.

My dad apparently poured oodles of time and effort fixing up the basement upon buying the house when I was the ripe age of 18 months. At the end of this month, I'll be rolling up on 25 years and in the big scheme of things, not a single things has changed since the original upgrade.

While I heavily criticized this originally, I am quickly finding out why.

Second lesson: If it's not a flat, non-textured wall, it's a royal pain in the ass to paint.

         Lesson 2.5: Painting unfinished concrete is
          the most infuriating and paranoia-building
          experience ever.

So to avoid several hours of, "Is that a spot?!" *paint* in between staring at the walls for hours or building an Arnold Schwarzenegger arm/shoulder pressing paint into walls that resemble English Muffins (nooks and crannies are not delicious in this manner), I highly recommend taking the time to hang dry wall. Also, no matter what color of cute paint and little touches you put on the wall, it's still unfinished cement and not really inspiring to look at.

I have one area mostly done. I say "mostly" because decorations are being saved until last and I have also piled stuff on top of my beautiful, clean, organization making it look like total crap again. Dust bunnies are also being shifted onto clean and polished floor.

Lesson 3: You will do everything at least 3 times.
          Lesson 3.5: If it's moving boxes, you will move
          them at least 5-8 times a piece.

The first time I attempted to clean the basement, I tried to make a massive pile o' stuff to sort and then slowly began to place it around the room thinking, "That's the perfect place. I will never have to move that item again." Oh, silly, me. What happens is you place 18 old film canisters in a perfect box. Then you will find a pocket in the pile with 3 more but since they don't fit in the box perfectly fitting 18, you think, "Eh, screw it" and then throw it out. And then like in some horror movie, you slowly begin to find 4 more pockets of film canisters containing at least a dozen per pocket and after shifting all the film canisters into 4 separate boxes while still throwing half of them away, you finally lose your mind, tear apart the whole pile searching for every single scrap of a film canister, at which point you don't find any and become infuriated that you just tore apart a pile looking for something that doesn't exist so much so that you go into the corner and rock back and forth, waiting for film canisters to attack you.

Ok, maybe that was a little dramatic but it isn't far from what actually happened. This is organization burnout people, DON'T LET IT HAPPEN TO YOU! You (and I) have to resolve the fact that something is not officially home in its proper spot until everything else is officially home. It ain't over until it's over, people.

And this basement is far from over.