Mental Health Day

Stress has a way of building up quietly over time. Small problems become large ones. An ache or pain that we might otherwise dismiss can become something we obsess over. What is that “tugging” feeling inside my back sometimes? Is that a tumor? Instead of a rational conclusion, like maybe I've been leaning forward on a new oak desk for practically six straight months, I might veer away from simpler explanations.

As I learned with my last job, I found it very beneficial to take a day or two for myself each month. The company had a “use ‘em or lose ‘em” policy for vacation days, as does my new job. I'd taken on so much responsibility after seven years, that I'd have to work considerably late in the days leading up to a vacation. It was always worth it for a three day weekend though, and a walk on a beach or through some trails in the woods, one extra day to myself out of the office, did a good job of keeping me level and sane.

It's taken a few months, but I'm finally getting the rhythm of the new place. I can predict when I'll have busy weeks, and when things will quiet down for a few days before picking up again. I can finally gauge within a week or more if there's a day on which I won't be missed. People actually do cover for each other when we go on vacation, but as the new guy, I haven't felt comfortable taking advantage of that policy just yet. I took a few days around the holidays, but I had four left from my few months in 2007 that I carried over to this year.

Suddenly, it's March, and I realize how fast time goes. I saw an opportunity a few weeks ago in my schedule, and put in for this Friday. It had been a while since I had a three day weekend to myself that wasn't a holiday or a snow day. Of course, a week ago a car accident took my car off the road until I could get the bumper repaired. I've been using my dad's car, and I wasn't going to take advantage. Four days for work would be enough driving. The fifth day would be a day of relaxation, of not worrying about deadlines or worrying if there was something wrong with me. I'd sleep late, and if I did venture out I'd probably find a local beach and listen to the waves.

So of course, at 9 AM, the phone rang. My dad called in to tell me it's the owner of the car that hit me. I reached over for my cell phone to check the time, my dad informed me that the call was on our land line. Before I could explain, I heard him telling this guy, “he'll be right with you; he thought you were on his cell phone.” As the old man chuckled, I knew it was going to be one of those days.

The guy did get my fax with the estimate, but hadn't called the body shop yet. Instead, he looked up the value of my car and pointed out that it wouldn't make sense to spend more than its worth to fix it. He wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know, but then that was irrelevant. New car or not, his babysitter slammed his car into my property, and I wanted it fixed. He assured me that he'd still pay to have the car fixed if I didn't want money instead, and I told him yes, I did want my vehicle back on the road. His only other recourse was to suggest that, if my body shop didn't give him a price he liked, that I might consider his body shop. At this point, I just want it fixed so I have my own car to drive to work, and to dealerships on weekends as I begin the process of looking for another vehicle.

So, with my wishes in mind, he was off to call my body shop. This would be the last I'd hear from him that day, but my mind soon focused on other concerns. Plastic covered the kitchen sink, in front of which was a ladder. A cardboard box sat on the counter, surrounded by dust and sheetrock. My dad put it there to catch debris, and it did catch some, but a little box isn't enough to cover a three foot area. You see, a few weeks ago one of the light fixtures in our kitchen died. After trying in vain to pull the old one free, my dad finally just cut a big square in the ceiling to take it out. Calling an electrician would have been an admission of defeat.

My dad's been very helpful to me lately. Honestly, he's been helpful for 33 years. In the past week though, he's not only given up his car, but he took mine to a body shop for me and got my estimate. I'd promised to help him and return the favor, especially since the last time he started working on this particular project and had my mom on a ladder, she ended up in the hospital with heart palpitations. I know nothing about electricity but, as with automobile repair, I've found I can do the work as long as my dad is there to talk me through it. He is a little “braver” about leaving the power on though, and since I'm scared of shocks, I did have to implore him to turn the power off before we started working.

Installing the fixture was no easy task. My dad asked me to read the instructions, then cut me off in the middle of reading as he was thinking aloud. He can be a little impatient. Eventually, I discerned how the brackets fit between the beams, and that the metal was designed to snap off and adjust as needed. With the little square he'd cut though, we couldn't screw the fixture in place first or he'd have no room to attach the wires. The wires had to be attached first.

Soon, my dad was standing on a sheet of plastic on our kitchen counter, while I stood next to him on an old wobbly ladder. I like heights as much as electricity. After a few instances of plaster falling into my eyes, I resorted to wearing goggles. My dad never does, but then he does wear glasses. While I supported the fixture, he attached the wires. Meanwhile, morning was giving way to afternoon and, when the phone finally rang, I knew it was either the body shop or the owner of the other vehicle.

“Hello?” said my mom, blinking a few times as she listened to whomever was on the other end. “Oh....go to Hell!” she said, then hung up. “WHAAAAAT??” I screamed, nearly falling off the ladder and wondering why she was smiling. As it turned out, it wasn't for me. It had been some recorded message selling insurance or something, typical annoying telemarketing.

My dad had finally secured the wires, and it was time for me to screw in the fixture. He was ready to jump down since I was in the way on the ladder, but I instead told my mom where the power screwdriver was. The beams were tough, but I managed to put in enough screws to hold the metal in place. Next came the hard part.

My dad had cut a piece of sheetrock roughly the size of the opening and, after filing the edges, we had gotten it to fit before we put in the fixture. Calculating where to cut a hole in it for the light was trickier. I preferred to use a tape measure while he used a yard stick, at an angle, and said it was “close enough”. My mom had the best idea, and gave me a piece of blue chalk to rub around the edge of the metal. Then I pressed the square against it, and when I lowered it we had a round marking.

As a guide, we used the outer plastic cover of the new fixture to draw a better circle around our rough chalk lines. Even so, the opening was too small and took some filing to get right. The piece also cracked in one corner and had to be glued. While we waited an hour or so for that to dry, I had some time to finally relax and start watching some movies. But soon, I was back on the ladder, drilling holes and securing the sheetrock. By 6 PM, we were done for the day:




My dad sounded worse as the day went on, and finally told us he had a bad cold. I don't think breathing in dust helped, nor did the fact that he stopped to make a sandwich halfway through, eating with dusty hands in a dusty kitchen. “You know how much dirt I've eaten in my life?” is his favorite scoffing expression when I suggest he wash his hands first in such scenarios. So when I finally did get out of the house on my vacation day, it was to drive my mom to the supermarket while my dad finally settled in to a chair for a much needed nap.

The ceiling obviously still needs to be spackled, to cover those edges, and then it will need to be painted. In the meantime, we finally have a working light over the sink again and the bulk of the project is behind us. It might not have been the day I had in mind a week ago, but it was a productive day, and frees up my weekend. I still have to figure out which body shop will fix my car, so the weekend isn't entirely free. I think it's time to start looking at my calendar again, to plan my next mental health day.