Shower Stall

Before we both went away for the holidays, a reno guy came and dismantled the shower at F's place. The old one was really grotty and a bit ramshackle, very mildewy. We had picked out this new corian type frame, this faux marble, and F had the idea that the guys would come and install the new one the first week in january.

Well, of course, it took a month. Bit by painstaking bit. Since that's the only shower in F's house (there are two baths, but no other shower), this was by definition disruptive. The week I was there mid-January, I became pals with the methodical, tidy Ron-the-plumber guy and watched the rebuild take shape inch by agonizing inch. It seemed that every time Ron would put in something new -- like, the water line and the test that the faucet etc. worked -- he'd then take it out again.

For the next two weeks, F would report to me on the phone every night the barely discernible progress. Some of it obvious -- heavy walls raised -- and some of it impenetrable. (Drying? Or was Ron actually off on another job altogether?) By the time F was able to actually step inside and scrub himself, the expensive new shower was completely anti-climactic. "It's a bit... pink," he said, a little carefully.

That shower project mirrors how I'm feeling about this dissertation. Inch by painstaking inch, progress not even notable for the strain of getting there. This whole "wallowing in the data" phase leaving me bloated and distractible... interspersed with intense moments of clarity, deep tenderness toward my couples and feeling like something might one day actually look whole.

Maybe.