house spirits

As a homeowner, some evil spirit who controls my domicile regularly adds to my agenda of projects. It's almost as if these very walls do not like nor trust me. I don't know why this might be the case (I got the best loan possible, honest!), but still, the building does its best to force me to do work for which I feel fully unqualified. 

Case in point: a few months ago, my back door decided to quit latching. At the time, I chalked this up to weather, mostly so I might claim to be a personal victim of climate change...for the bragging rights or something. Alas, spring and summer arrived, and the damn door still wouldn't stay closed...so it was my house's wicked intentions after all.

A renter would only have to make a call, and a professional (or a stoner who bluffed their was through an indifferent interview process) would come and apply expertise to the problem. I was left with just my wits and mechanical aptitude. Naturally, this initiated thoughts of doomsday scenarios.

As I have made clear before, home repair is not a natural ability. I do, however, have YouTube access, so I could at least consult with professionals...or at least enthusiasts...or stoners with webcams. Soon enough, I had a plan of attack.

But not, however, the confidence. I naturally tried the low-stakes solutions first. However, when tightening screws, lubricating the hinges, and animal sacrifice all failed, I knew I would have to move the door handle's scratch plate, and this would man chiseling out part of my door frame.

There's nothing quite like knowing one has to permanently and irreversiblly alter one's own house to freak one the heck out.

I brought out my freshly purchased chisel, along with a drill, screwdriver, holy water, Dremel, rubber chicken, cement mixer, and hammer. I prayed to Pan, the goat god. I texted Norm from This Old House and asked to borrow any talisman he might possess.

In short, I delayed in every way I could until there was nothing left to do but enter a fugue state and start carving out chunks of my own house. 

That's the last thing I remember before waking up in my garage. I put up my tools and went back into the house...only this time, the door closed and locked perfectly. I can only assume I was overcome by the spirit of some pioneer carpenter who defeated my house demon in single combat, because the work itself doesn't look half bad. Either that, or maybe I'm secretly a mechanical genius. 

I'm betting on the ghost angle.