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Fuel

May 8, 2008

My entire house is in a bizarre state right now.  Every floor smells like fuel-oil, the whole thing shakes and ratttles for minutes at a time, and I can barely hear myself think on the main floor.  I refuse to try my basement, and upstairs it’s almost as loud and the shaking’s worse, though, the noise isn’t as intrusive.

We’re renovating.  Again.  We’re putting in a basement not-quite-a-suite, which is pretty much the final stage in our planned renovations for this house, short of the eventual necessity of redoing the enclosure of our front porch. But this is the final planned reno, and exciting in that.  What’s less exciting is that yet again I’m living in a construction site, and this was construction that was supposed to happen in fall semester, and then was again supposed to happen in spring semester.  As in, it should have been done months ago.  Now, admittedly there were some planning & permit hijinks, but 8 months is not taken up with dicking around with permits.

The entire idea was that I’d have my own space to move into when I came back.  …Not so much.

The job is entirely indoors, so the contractor was thrilled that he’d have a winter-acceptable job to put his men to.  Again, not so much.

So, again, I get to live in the middle of an insane construction site.  I was up at 10:00 to let the lads in, ’cause one of ’em forgot to pick up his key, for instance, and there’s no way I could have slept through the concrete saw or the jackhammer if they’d come in and gotten going.

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