I couldn't get up. I tried. I failed.

When I did get up, I could only manage a couple of hours of DIY.

Then I sat here and wrote some backdated blog entries. It's cathartic, but not productive.

Soon, I will go out and leave this house to itself for a while. Until I get a number of project sorted out, my builder, who has installed the bath in my new bathroom, will not be able to return. There's a load to do, then. I can't begin to do it. I can see the enormity of what there is to do, and it's overpowering me a little. Small discrete tasks is what I need to focus on.

I managed some tasks. I removed the rubble I'd generated in a previous exercise from the upstairs of my house. I had the "hilarious" event of a rubble sack splitting on me as I picked it up, depositing all of its contents on the floor. I replaced the sack with a new one, which promptly did the same bottom-falling-out-hilarious-trick. The third bag didn't split, which is good as I was on the brink of having another tantrum/hissy fit.

I also managed to finally disconnect the last of the awful woodpanelling that someone deemed a good idea to attach to the walls of my upstairs bedrooms. To finish the bedrooms and prepare them for replastering will take some wood-panel ejection (basically about 30 trips up and down my stairs with wooden panels). Then I'll have to do some rubble clearing of the bits of wall which need total replastering. Finally there's the wallpaper steaming/stripping, which will take a few hours in two of the rooms and a few minutes in one of them. Then the plasterer can come.

Is this a higher priority than tiling the downstairs floor? I'm not sure. I really need to think about this.

I won't think about it right away. I'm going out.