I was home sick from work years ago and a man was fixing up some of the plaster in the house I grew up in. I was playing dwarf fortress and he was saning plaster on the ceiling. He was grumbling and complaining and swearing in considerable frustration. I asked him if he was alright, if something was going uncommonly wrong.
No, he said, he repairs plaster professionally, he just complains a lot. He used to repair the old plaster at a local elementary school, but they stopped calling.

I like to think that thing I like most in my life is taking care of my house and my property. If that’s true, I complain an awful lot while I do it. I groan and sweat an get down on myself as I hang drywall or haul mulch or organize my shop.

I spoke down on parents who get upset with the hard bits of having children, so I ought to make fun of myself for having a very similar attitude about homeownership.

Oh it’s a real bastard, owning a home. You’ll see, when you’re up late fixing a leak or spending all summer putting on drywall and flooring! You’ll miss your bachelor days in a rental when you’ve got all the responsibility on your shoulders.

There have been tough moments with Roby, certainly, but all in all even the worst parts have a certain grace and glory to them. I’ve had puke in my ear, Covid in my lungs, and 3 hour sof sleep in my brain and I’ve still felt like king of the world because I got to spend time with Roby.

I can have slept in, eaten a good breakfast, and have help as I hang drywall and I will feel as angry about it as if the drywall itself had punched me in the face. This is unacceptable. My house isn’t as cute as Roby, but surely there must be something I can do to enjoy even the tough bits.