Floor me

I was replacing the floor in the dining room. It wasn’t actually my current dining room, or even my current house, but rather some sort of airy and spacious farmhouse. I could see? tell? outside that it was open and beautiful with trees and fields and blue skies and all that lovely stuff. And there I was, going to replace the carpet in the dining room with hardwood.

The first step, I knew, was to take out the baseboards so that I could get the rug up, and then I’d need to pull out the tracks to hold the wall to wall and then I could start laying the hardwood. So I started pulling out the baseboards, a job I expected to be difficult, but it was easy! They came away like a dream. (ha ha) It was like they’d only been held in place by pins rather than nails. But then it wasn’t the baseboard I was pulling, it was the wall to wall tracks. The carpet was gone already and underneath there was actually really nice hardwood already (but blonde hardwood, not the nice dark stuff I was going to put down). And then there were some sections of the dark floor already down too. I’d put them in place, I could see how I’d done it, but I didn’t remember doing it.

I kept getting interrupted though. There were all these people there, and they kept dragging me away to other things. Moving furniture, showing this, looking at that. There was some woman who’d come and wanted to see the basement, so I took her down, all while wanting to be working on my floor. She remarked on a neat stand thingy that was taking a decorative space beside the spiral stairs to the basement. Then she pointed out a brick box (a box made of bricks) in the closet that had my “cursed vase” in it. It was a black vase (not unlike one my ex had been given at one point) and the lady said something about how it was in there “talking away to itself”.

Then I was back upstairs happily pulling more track and laying more floor....