When you build a new house –like we did about twelve years ago now– and said house has a garage, one of the things you probably forget to have done, or you don’t bother because you can live without it for a long while, is having the garage finished.
Four walls and a door is good enough for a car, right? Who needs insulation or interior surfaces?
But then time passes and the wood-framed room where you store your vehicles at night starts to become a cluttered black-hole of angry mess. Its very existence is cast upon a with a shadow of guilt, guilt extending out towards you with that tsk-tsk-ing finger of shame, implying that if –DUDE!– you just put some effort into the space then maybe –just maybe!– it might to start feeling a little less like the unholy space of dark clutter-ness that makes you cringe each time you press the button and flash the neighbourhood with its haunting state of epic disorganization.
Or maybe that’s just me.
I’ve been meaning to drywall the garage for years, but as it turns out drywall is (a) big, (b) heavy, and (c) time-consuming to deal with. I could have had drywall delivered, or borrowed a truck or obtained my stack of sheet rock in some other non-specific manner. Yet, it was always just one of those “I need a couple days” tasks that never quite made it to the top of the list. Once you’ve got a stack of drywall, you really need to deal with it. You can’t have it sitting around taking up space or leave it in the back of a vehicle while you poke away at installing it –especially if it’s not your vehicle. You’ve gotta hang it that day or don’t bother, y’know? And I hadn’t bothered. Hadn’t dealt. Not yet.
So I dealt with it.
Easter Monday I cleaned the the garage, took all the crap off the walls, removed the hundreds of hooks and fasteners and little obstructions. I swept. I washed. I tossed. I parked on the driveway and gutted the space. Then went out and bought a new (corded) drill because unscrewing all those hooks made it clear that my current cordless drill was hinting at retirement plans and wasn’t going to pull through this job.
The next day (also a day off) I drove Fetch over to the local Home Depot and (with the help of a tiny little lady in an orange apron who was probably stronger than me) loaded up a dozen sheets of drywall and carefully drove home. I must have looked the pity case: a doofus and his little cart of drywall and this woman comes rushing over to help me load it. I should have got her name and sent a commendation into Home Depot headquarters.
At home I tackled the project on my own. No, not the smartest plan, I realize in retrospect. It took me seven hours (with a break for lunch) to measure, move, cut, and install twelve pieces of drywall. (And I still have to do the ceiling but I fully realize that the ceiling is definitely not a one-person job!) And it looks as good as you’d expect. Proud to park there good. Good enough for a garage.
Also known as: I’m not becoming a professional drywall guy any time soon.
Next time… the ceiling, mudding, maybe even paint…?