So in my never-ending battle to 1) figure out what’s wrong with me and 2) fix it, I heard today that I don’t have rheumatoid arthritis. Amen! However, I was told that I have the gorgeous hands of a hand model and that they are dainty enough to not take kindly to being “mistreated” by learning aerial silks (does that mean I can also tell people I’m no longer allowed to do dishes?).
So the bad news: I’m not sure I can make a career of being an aerial artist. The good news: I can save myself a lot of time and money in the trying. Also, I don’t have the autoimmune disease I had feared when my hands started clenching and I was unable to open or close my fingers upon waking each morning. Note that the elimination of RA as a possibility doesn’t rule out other autoimmune diseases (yay!).
I was given permission to continue with household DIY projects as long as they were not as stressful on my hand joints as rock climbing. While this sounds like a far-fetched comparison, I refer you to my previous post about the importance of towel bars (multiple) in each bathroom. Ergo, it is safe to assume that I have been in the process of adding towel bars to my two bathrooms, or, more accurately, I’ve been trying to do so. After my last post I’ll admit to feeling euphoric at the idea of bettering a room for me and all who may come after me as well as putting my own personal pet peeve to rest.
Then, of course, reality set in as I tried installing an actual towel bar and hit the metal plates. I’ve already mentioned this before, and even had the audacity to proclaim that I would stop making mistakes until I figured out what I was doing. So I did what any rational being in 2015 would do and watched no fewer than 4 YouTube videos of how to install a towel bar (or TV, for that matter) into both drywall AND metal. I purchased the right bar off of Amazon that was only 18 inches in length and got back to work.
I drilled my second set of holes and immediately hit the same problem as before–despite not drilling over a stud, I was hitting metal and inch behind the wall. The more I tried to push through and force the plastic anchors to lie flush when they had nowhere to expand to, the more I ripped up my wall (not to mention stressing my precious hands, ha!). One guy at ACE asked if I had water gushing from my wall because he thought it sounded like I had hit a pipe. *Paranoia set in about there, despite no water coming from the wall.*
So, I’ve given up a second time, after losing some sleep to this issue. (I did note that I realize this “issue” is about as unimportant as they come, right? And yet you see that it is still something about which I lose precious hours of sleep.) The rheumatologist said he thought my not sleeping was a bigger deal than the pain in my hands since the pain has finally subsided after I stepped away from aerials for a few months. You know you’re transparently Type A when the rheumatologist talks to you for twenty minutes about getting better sleep.
So coming full circle to my list of what is wrong with me and what needs to be fixed–I’d like to say it’s the towel bar’s fault that I’m a bit neurotic. And why not? Last time I blamed the beguiling Moen towel bar with a string of curses, it didn’t argue.