Today things started to look a little like they are going back together again.
Yesterday, I hurt myself trying to vacuum all the insulation that workmen tracked all over my home. When I had my surgery, the doctor told me no shoveling, no vacuuming. She said, "You are a new car."
But chunks of pink insulation taunted me from all over my floors. Pink insulation isn't something I can let lie. When they went through my bedroom closet to get to the attic to put the lights in my bathroom, they got a lot of insulation in there too. I vacuumed it three times, but I still went to bed with insulation all over my pajamas (I realized too late), and I found yet more insulation behind the closet door this morning.
I did a great deal of necessary vacuuming yesterday, and then I told Shawn, "I think I have dented the new car."
Today, I laid low, in hopes of avoiding the need for surgical reconstruction.
I wrote 4323 words on a book I will never publish and nobody will ever read (or maybe I wrote half of those words yesterday). As the sky turned pink with sunset, Microsoft Word cursed my formatting and the margins mutinied, so I did a "save" and "close."
I gave up on nutrition , sloshing a can of chicken and dumplings into the crockpot with some token cans of mixed vegetables, a feeble attempt to shore up a meal based on carbs, gluten and MSG, three things I try to avoid, but my heart is just plumb-wore-out. Licked.
Oh. And the guys doing the work said their boss's timeline is not realistic. The cabinets will not be installed by Tuesday. Seems reasonable, based on what I can see.
Our old refrigerator lurks uncomfortably in the midst of a changing world, holding just enough food to beckon us down when we are desperate.
The lights, switches, outlets and sheet-rock are in place, over plumbing and duct-work, which are also in place.
The dust is heavy, but I am lying low. If I clean tomorrow, it will last all weekend.