At one point I took her for a walk in the 24deg chill and I played ball with her a few times but she knew there were people in the house she couldn’t vet and cover in hair and bark at and it was driving her nuts. So she drove us nuts. Joy.
I HATE dealing with workers in my house. I feel, at all times, like I’m asking too much from them, that Husband is asking too much from them and, even when I’m paying them and it’s clear I’m paying them, I feel like an utter shit. UTTER SHIT.
I have spent the last three months putting my life on hold for folks like the window guy and the stone guy and this guy and that guy. Ugh. And they have all been late. And, when they were in fact onsite, shit went tits up and temper tantrums were thrown - and not thrown by me. And I have no clue what to do when a worker is having a shit day in my house, throwing his nail gun down and cussing and stomping about. I do not know how to make that situation better.
And I like situations to be better, and calm and easy. I have enough angst in my head I do not need to add in someone else’s.
I was told the stone guys installing the hearth were coming around noon. They showed up at 3:15. A whole morning and part of an afternoon I could have been doing something else productive, or least pretending to be doing something productive. And then, when they got there, I had to make continued calls to Husband about the hearth placement etc. because the guy who measured wasn’t the guy who came over and somehow between all those phone calls, it was not once mentioned that Husband wanted the hearth set into the fireplace box until after they glued it down. AFTER they’d glued it down. Then I had two unhappy guys in the house having to pull up a granite stone hearth without damaging the hearth OR the floor and then cut it and then re-glue it. No one was in a good mood then - least of all me in my useless capacity of lame duck assistant.
And it was raining, so every time they went out to get something from their truck, they had to traipse back in on our new but not finished floor and yes, they wiped their feet but work boots aren’t smooth surfaces and their treads don’t wipe out and so foot prints all over the floor. Something else for Husband to grumble about and for me to shout back that “I HATE all this stuff.” And for him to yell back, “That’s what being a grown-up is about.”
I QUIT. Before he fires me, I quit. This stuff is too hard and not at all enjoyable and not what I signed up for when we moved out here.
And just now, Husband’s informed me that the cabinet over the cooktop is wrong. The cabinet over the cooktop that hides the vent that is there to extract all the cooking smells from the things we will be cooking or, in my case, burning. The cabinet that is screwed and glued to the wall and the other cabinets is wrong and will need to be replaced. ACK!
I am SO glad I’m going into work today. That I get to expand my space and my mood and I don’t have to be the one here in the uncomfortable icky 600 sq. ft. of opinions and power tools. Husband can deal with that. Tigger the Dog is on her own!
Since I don’t like this discombobulated angry feeling, I’m going to end this post on a positive happy and joyful wildlife note:
On Sunday I surprised Owl who was hanging out in the bushes just a foot away from me and I got to watch him/her take off and fly around the house. I’m guessing the Chipmunks he/she was stalking have erected a statue of me in my honor.
On Monday a massive hawk sat on the tree branch in the middle of the backyard and I got to watch it see me, poop in derision and then take off, flying off and around the trees at the bottom of the hill.
And this morning, a herd of deer wandered through the yard eating a buffet breakfast. They crossed the road and made the mistake of going up the hill into the yard with the million barking dogs. They quickly reconsidered their path choice and came bounding down the hill and through our yard doing these spectacular leaps over rocks and bushes. It was pretty awesome to watch and much better to look at than cabinets that have to be unscrewed, unglued and replaced.
My new life therapy plan is a window seat. One I can go to when I need a time-out from all the icky grown-up stuff. Odds are, I'm going to be sitting there a lot!