Beside Construction

I hate construction work. This is something I never really realized about myself before. I mean, few people actively like having their home under construction, particularly by outside forces--that is, those few people who actively like having their home under construction are probably those who like doing said construction themselves, who take a pride in their work. Most people, however, can to some extent tolerate construction. Me, I feel like I'm going stark raving mad.

This has had a positive influence of one sort however. I am definitely back in the ranks of the diurnal. The first week was partly miserable because I was waking to the start of the construction, waking to the knowledge that my chance for a shower was gone, that my opportunity to make coffee or anything else requiring running water was fast slipping away, to the knowledge that there were strangers in my home and I was in my PJs. And, of course, waking to chaotic noise, to screeches and crashes and pounding. I set alarms to wake up earlier...they arrived and began earlier still!

And even once I was up and dressed, I was trapped. Stuck listening to endless pounding, crashes and screeches. Stuck smelling the sharp scents of chemicals and soldered metal. And often stuck without running water or working toilets. Eventually, around noon or 1pm or so, I would get a chance to get out of the house. But by then, madness already had a foothold in my psyche for the day.

Today, however, I managed to wake to my alarm clock. Early. And then I was whisked away on the early bus (read: carpool) into town for several glorious hours of coffee shop splendor. Somehow the scree and whir of the espresso maker is soothing and familiar, the hubbub of voices a calming influence.

I did some job hunting. I worked on a weaving commission. I talked politics and public transit with perfect strangers in the cafe. A lovely morning.