I rocked the crowbar, the hammer, the chisel, and the respirator yesterday. I shed the gloves, because I couldn't work as well with my hands with them on. Occasionally I would try to shed the respirator but then a pesky little cough would start bothering me. Tearing down sheetrock and tile is dusty work. There was also some fearsome mold growing back there. No longer. I attacked it with germicidal, serious strength Clorox and the area around the shower is sanitary enough for a hospital.
517 came over yesterday afternoon with a crowbar and joined me for a couple of hours. We discovered a sheetrocked-over door space, which I think was once the entrance to the house, before the addition with the kitchen and bathroom was added on. Next to that we're down to the plaster and lath old wall materials, and the studs on which the sheetrock and tile used to be. Next step: new sheetrock, and fiberglass wall cover.
Today I'm on campus until about 10PM, so I won't make progress today. But tomorrow, I'm very hopeful that I can start rebuilding.
There's something wonderfully satisfying about physical labor. I got as filthy as I have ever been in my life, and I inhaled some nasty substances. I repeatedly banged myself in the left hand with the hammer and dropped tiles on the same tender spot on my left foot. My shoulders and arms ached and I got three or four cuts from sharp tile pieces. But I look at the bathroom and feel a swell of pride. I understand a little better how my house is put together. It's not so mysterious.