Not a good night. I lie awake, my mind running a mile a minute well into the early hours of morning, not finding myself drifting off until past 7 AM and am more than a little annoyed with my inability to shut my brain off.
I’m definitely punchy when the alarm screeches in my ear–easily piercing through the ear plugs–and it makes the dogs go insane, the way it usually does.
The monster boxer has woken me up four times already, my blankets are halfway down the bed, and I’m seriously aggravated when I shove her in the back yard and then make my way through the rest of the pack, making even more of a racket than they usually do.
The weather’s pleasant enough, but since the lack of sleep is having it’s effects I can’t really appreciate it as I start the morning rituals and get ready to head on down and to the house.
Laundry, the steady routine of it calms me a little, and after I’ve taken off the dry, hung the wet and shove breakfast down while standing at the counter, I feel remotely human again.
Before I start on my morning coffee and much needed cigarette, I fold the large pile of laundry I’ve deposited on the kitchen table, heave my computer bag in place, hook everything up and give my system the final boost that should get me through the first part of the day.
Messages aplenty today, but in due time, just about when the sibs come downstairs, big brother and I resume our editing session. Two more chapters to go and then we should have the latest project over and done with. Should, being the operative word here.
It goes well enough, right up until grandpa calls from his place, announcing that Prama (pointer mix) has managed to dig her way through the fence again, loosing the majority of the pack in the upper garden, while she has somehow squeezed her way through the recently fixed gate.
A disaster waiting to happen! Can you imagine what would happen if some unsuspecting person is around while the pack breaks free? Oh. My. God! Just thinking about that makes me break out in hives. Until we’ve managed to fix the fences properly–they have been up for a good ten years, and they’re showing some serious wear–the dogs are confined to the courtyard as due punishment.
Right now they are definitely too eager to roam to be trusted, especially Prama and Tadaika–the eager little bastards–who seem to be the cause every time.
The barely contained disaster-in-the-making puts a serious damper on our editing; thoughts whirling with all the trouble this event could cause, making it hard to concentrate. Still, with a lot of effort we manage to hack our way through it, finally reaching the last page…when big brother suddenly claims that one particular scene still isn’t “sitting well”.
The rest he feels confident about now, but that scene, the dialogue–he waves his hand vaguely–it is “off”…whatever that means?
Since he is unable to come up with the “right” way it is supposed to go, I get rather frustrated by the entire thing. At this point I just want to tell him to shut up, or offer something I can work with, until I finally just delete the “offensive” scene and do a complete rewrite that appears to satisfy him at last.
I still don’t know what was “off” about the first one, but don’t care at this time and try to make myself take a step back in order to look at it objectively. In the end, I decide that it doesn’t really matter in the bigger scheme of things. This scene goes as well as the first in my opinion, so if this one meets big brother’s high standards, so be it.
The new scene will need another edit, of course, but with a little luck we’ll be sending the story to a publisher tomorrow or Monday morning at the latest. What with the Holidays coming up there really isn’t a time limit, but we figure we might as well get it over with and move on to something new.
Seriously relieved with the semi-done status of the story, I shut everything down at last. Next I wrestle my way through the dogs, and head to the kitchen to recycle last night’s soup. Would be a waste to throw it out, so we might as well finish it.
I let the meal digest for a bit before heading back to the kitchen for cleanup and resuming “the project”.
The small spice drawers certainly make the whole look good, creating a rather robust image for the top cabinets as I clean up the counters and then suck in a deep breath before turning towards where the last section of the old kitchen is waiting.
It looks like a disaster area, really. Covered with tools, cases, wood and debris that have been tossed there during last night’s cleanup. It is taunting me, and–sucking up the distinct feeling of not-wanting-to-tackle the mess–I dig in.
First thing’s first: Removing everything and anything, and putting it somewhere out of the way, without putting it out of reach.
I’m most pleased when both sisters come down and join in, moving back and forth to get the tools out of the way, while I remove old cabinet doors and crawl into the open spaces revealed to see how everything is fastened. Screws, thank God!
With the rapid removal of the stuff piled on the counter, and little sister moving back to the new counter to slap on the third layer of paint on the underside of the spice drawer casings, little brother comes down too and gets to work on the oak wood frames for their second treatment with varnish.
At long last I have room to start disassembling and twist into a variety of uncomfortable positions until it’s just age keeping the old counter together.
Middle sister is just finishing up removing the last few screws around the corner, when big brother joins in too, and decide to just jerk the counter off with one mighty heave. It sends both middle sister and me scrambling back just in time before the oak wood sections of the counter come off. Age has made the glue brittle and we are able to save most of the oak for later use, should we wish to do so.
The carcasses of the cabinets are now revealed, and since they refuse to come loose, I call out a warning to the sibs–they’re removing the old shelves I’ve put aside–and bring my foot up for a solid kick against one of the old walls.
Did a slight miscalculation on the strength part, I’ll admit. Almost gave two dogs a heart attack when the section takes flight and lands a solid yard away. Hah.
Much to my surprise, the rest remains standing and it takes three more kicks before the entire structure finally crumbles. With the way the old kitchen looked there at the end, I’d figured a strong breeze would have knocked it over, but it actually took some effort. Go figure!
Bit by bit the frame is removed, at long last the high, storage cabinet in the corner is free enough for me to start removing screws and hooks. It comes down without mishap, and is removed until at long last we’ve reached the foundation/bottom.
At this point we’re all joking about the possibility about what we could find underneath the section that remains. Phrases such as; “It’s alive” and “I definitely see something moving down there,” are tossed back and forth, becoming more outlandish with every minute that passes.
There is the remote possibility of snakes, of course, which little brother gleefully points out, actually freaking me out for a bit when I see something move through a crack. It’s an old electrical wire that big brother’s yanking out on the other side, and I profusely “thank” little brother for putting the idea in my head.
There also is the rat infestation we had a few years back, and there is a distinct smell coming up from what used to be closed off completely, bearing testament of it. Rather than getting any closer than is absolutely necessary, I once again use my foot for the removal, holding my breath, just in case something jumps out.
Now, I don’t have any problems with rats. I do however have serious problems with things jumping at me when I least expect it.
Nothing does, much to all our relief when just a soft kick breaks through the eleven-year-old pressed-wood without trouble, showing only one old rat nest which is spreading a rather nasty musky smell by then. The remainder of debris and the likes are removed posthaste–a can of odor remover soon half empty, since the smell is bad and nauseates me–by the time we’re done and decide that it is a job well done.
For the first time since we build the house, we are able to see a section of unpainted wall, and it announces that the old kitchen is now truly gone. Yay!
The sibs stay for the duration of cleanup and then disappear to their own quarters to resume their most recent discovery of being able to follow piano lessons on youtube. For the past two days I’ve been listening to slow, offbeat, but rapidly improving reps of familiar pop tunes. Once my schedule clears a little, I’ll be sure to give it a try, too. I’ve wanted to play the piano since I was a toddler.
It is around eleven in the evening by then, and with the often repeated reps sounding in my ear, big brother and I apply wide strips of aluminum to the open areas between the ceiling and top cupboards, allowing us to use to tops as storage too, once we get them attached.
At long last today’s work is done, and big brother and I settle in front of the TV to watch the recorded last episode of season one of “Dexter”. It’s such a shame that this will be the last one for a while. It’s a wonderfully twisted show, but since the channel that broadcasted it terms it as “not successful” due to too few ratings, it is unlikely that the next season will come on any time soon.
I’m feeling a bit edgy by then, and though Dexter is always fascinating to watch, I’m kind of relieved when it is time for me to head on up to my cabin for the night. I don’t know where this edgy feeling comes from but it’s frustrating as heck.
Just need to feed the dogs, go through my messages and write the Blog, and then I can call it a day.
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