That tap wasn't even broken. Just annoying. You had to nudge it slightly left and then back into position to get non-freezing water. If you went too far, it'd let out a weird sound. Not deafening, but sharp — like a rusty hinge with opinions. I put up with it for years. Blamed the system. Blamed the apartment. Blamed everything except the fact that I hadn't done anything.

One Tuesday, I was home early, waiting for the pasta water to boil, and it hit me: I am tired of this space.

It wasn't a breakdown. More like a feeling that had finally spread to my ribs. The drawers were loose, the bench was basically decorative, and the cupboard door slammed my face every time I bent down. I'd started to brace like it was a reflex.

I pulled out a notebook and wrote “replace kitchen faucet” at the top. Beneath that: “longer bench,” then “why is it behind the fridge?” The question mark wasn't sarcastic. The switch really was hidden like a prank.

I told myself I'd just fix that one thing. Just swap out the tap. Easy. But standing in the aisle of chaos three days later, holding a tap, I somehow ended up with tile samples under my arm. And then came the mess.

I didn't get help. I probably should've. Instead, I got a drill from a mate from my friend Rory, who said, “Don't aim at read more anything alive.” Not exactly the instruction manual, but I used it anyway.

Taking down that top unit felt like a win. Against what? I'm not totally sure. Maybe the version of me that tolerated nonsense.

The chaos spiraled. Not into madness, just... as you'd expect. I spent three hours debating grout colors. Got into a minor debate with a guy on a Facebook group about “the best tile spacing tool”. I still don't really understand epoxy, but I'm convinced he was wrong.

And the new tap? Still makes a sound. Different sound now. Softer. Almost charming. I think I like it. Or maybe I've learned to live with it.

It's not magazine-worthy. The tile near the bin's not square, and the outlet by the toaster feels off-balance. But when I stand there, I don't duck. That alone is something.

And that notebook? Still on the bench. Nothing new written. Which, honestly, says a lot.