Gary, get someone to do it. I'll keep this quick (but I swear it's a true story): I'm in my house in GA, by myself. House is empty, moving trucks gone, wife/kid gone, and I have one quick meeting the next day and I fly to CT to our new house. So I have ONLY things I can take on a plane left. I have some food, couple-a beers and a book, and I'm set. I do one last walk around, and I see a blue tribute candle in our walk-in attic. I say "eh, I'll grab that" and walk across the rafters in my dress shoes to get it. I get it, I'm walking back and my dress shoes slip, I go down, two feet through the ceiling into the room below and I'm straddling the rafter. You've got to be kidding me. I have to fix this.
I've done sheetrock before (and a lot of it, professionally) but I'm stubborn and over-confident, and I have it in my head that I have to only use tools I can carry with me on a plane. So I get a Dirt Devil (for the insulation and dust), a piece of dry wall, hammer, nails, putty and a trowel. I'm working off boxes and a milk crate, and I finally, hours later, get it patched, but I know in my heart there's WAY more putty than there should be, and I didn't let the boards settle before I taped them. Next day, I get a call from our agent, and in this deep Southern drawl he goes "Stadler, what the hell happened in that guest bedroom?" I knew this when I left in the morning, but it sagged, and it looked like a cocoon had formed on the ceiling. "I'll have someone come in and do it right this afternoon."
Not my finest hour.