So, I sit here right now looking back and wonder how did it every get this way? I know it's mostly my fault, for at least letting myself get in this situation, but seriously why is it always my fault?

Let me rewind a bit, so the first house I owned with my wife, was a beautiful colonial in CT. I honestly thought it was perfect just the way it was, but I guess my wife had other ideas. The first time we did, was the front sitting room, or what I thought should be a sitting room. Her idea of a sitting room and my idea of a sitting room were completely different, but that's beside the point. Anyways, I had to paint the walls, put up crown molding, start to take out the fireplace, put back in the fireplace, change windows, an ever expanding list. It did get done though, just barely.

Moving on, I left for a work assignment and went I got back, I could have cried, in fact I did. I went upstairs to find the bathroom just torn to shreds. I literally say on the toilet and cried. When I came down from seeing that, I asked, I thought we were doing the deck first, because it was falling through when we bought the house. She replied, starting that the bathroom was an old project and the deck would be a new project. I still have no idea what the duck that meant, but whatever. This began the road to doing a bathroom.

I did finally do the deck and surprisingly, unlike the bathroom that took a year and a half, the deck took 2 months. The bathroom took so long, because she literally kept changing her mind on everything, multiple times.

Next it was the upstairs bedroom, then the breezeway, then the front halfway, the downstairs basement, the downstairs toilet, the second bath upstairs...such a long list, and to think, it was never my starting it that began everything. I never began any of this, it was always her, either I was at work or away for work and would come home to it turn apart.

Now, my major complaint is not the renovating, it's the doing it myself while she sits and plays on FB. She always gives me excuses as to why she couldn't help, why she can't do any of it herself, or why she needs to do these things. I always worried about the budget she was keeping and it wouldn't have been good, if the housing boom hadn't of come along, because the renovating was never actually made up for in terms of selling price and cost. I never could bring friends over for this of many more reasons.

Anyways, fast forward to today, I am sitting here, in a derelict house in England, again torn to pieces, with only an upstairs bathroom finished and a partially finished kitchen. She keeps telling everyone we're working on it, went she knows we're not, by we're, I mean me. She keeps asking me when I'm gonna put her plywood strips up in the kitchen and I keep telling her when she finds someone to do it. It's actually quite laughable, because she has had three contractors out and not a single one of them will try it.

I guess I'm doomed to live in squalor for the foreseeable future.