Drywall dust gets everywhere. It moves across the floor and clings and wiggles itself into the cracks of our bamboo. It coats our bathroom tiles in a thin layer of fine white grains and as it settles, it drifts further and further down the stairs into the basement.
But drywall dust means progress. Drywall dust means smooth walls, and mudded cracks. Drywall dust means the shape of a closet. Drywall dust means another paint colour to choose, another room ready for a smooth dark floor, ready for white trim and white doors.
I don’t mind getting dusty, living dusty, as long as that dust holds so much significance.
Mudding and sanding the master bedroom. There's a few patch jobs to be done yet and some serious lack of insulation to be taken care of sometime -- hopefully before the winter and with minimal disruption and damage -- but it's coming along beautifully, gorgeously, inspiringly. (No, inspiringly is not a word. I made it up. I'm the next Shakespeare, I guess.)