The plumbers are here. They are competently and industriously doing…stuff. From a lay perspective, it looks and sounds rather as if they’re trying their damnedest to murder my house by driving a stake through its heart. I am finding it disconcerting. It is rather disruptive. Allow me to demonstrate.
See that bookcase? It has a twin on the other side of the fireplace. I love those bookcases, love that whole wall, it’s the first thing I see when I walk in my house and I just adore it. The chair is fantastically comfy. I sit there and do the (truly disturbing quantity of) reading for my graduate program. The chair even comes pre-equipped with a kitten for my scholarly convenience. The table beside the chair holds a lamp, an alarm clock (for forcing myself to do just one more hour of reading) and a tiny box of post-its and other note taking supplies.
I camp out here all day long.
This is not conducive to reading. The whole living room is in disarray. The whole damn house is in disarray. Dusty too. I don’t do well with dust.
The scary thing is, everything is going smoothly and is right on track. The lovely plumbers assure me that it will all be as good as new (well, better, in that it won’t rain inside) when they’re done. What the hell is it like when these things don’t go according to plan?