This is mostly for the half-dozen poor souls who had to listen to me during my brief period of just-on-th-brink-of-hysteria yesterday afternoon, right after I walked into my laundry room and found this:
Yes, it appears that the tiles in the middle of the floor (and only the middle of the floor) have buckled. Only I described it as, “There is a hill in the middle of my laundry room!”, which is an overstatement. For that I apologize. Once Mom described it as “buckling”, I had a word for it, and so began my calming-down phase.
Of course, that phase took an additional three hours, one of which was spent in a room with twenty-seven screaming children. (Happy screaming; it was AWANA game time.) The noise made my brain effectively check out altogether, so beginning my recovery.
Because how is this any different from the handful of places in the living room where the floor has bubbled up and separated from its brethren? Only in that it was tile, which is for some reason a lot freakier than laminate, at least to me. Really, though, when I looked at it again when I got home, I realized that it wasn’t that big of a deal at all. Once I reasoned that there was still slab underneath it, and not just bare earth filled with snakes just waiting to come into the nice well-lit laundry room, I was able to sleep. (Yes, this was my main concern. I have problems, to be sure.)
I once commented to a friend that I only have two speeds: totally laid-back, and complete panic.
I believe I can rest my case.