All of my days are the same. Not exactly the same but mostly the same. I wake up at the same time. I leave for Willacy at the same time. I get home at almost the same time every day.
It's what I do while I'm there that changes. But the one thing that does stay the same is that what I do there usually sucks and is usually hard. That is always the same.
I won't bore you with specifics of what we did this week, other than the baby bird killing that still haunts my every thought. Things are getting done, slowly. It feels like nothing is getting done actually which is so weird because all I do is sweat all day and it isn't from standing around looking pretty.
Lots of little things get started, almost finished, mostly done, prepped, moved, hauled, dumped, varnished, grinded......
Speaking of grinding. This is what the man did for part of today:
This may look like a picture lacking in quality but really it is a picture of the man escaping his own disaster. He has to grind the plastic paint from the fireplace before we can stone it. And the dust? The dust is unspeakable! It's like a fine mist that clogs the lungs and sticks to the nose hairs.
I, on the other hand, was being so handy and putting lath on the beams with a staple gun but I stopped breathing because there was no more air. As soon as I was officially brain dead I left and sat in the garage and kept the man company on his grinding breaks. He was the grey ghost. And now Willacy looks like a place where the grey ghost might like to live....... and maybe kill baby birds on occasion.
As of right now there is exactly 32 more hours before I have to go back. I don't even want to sleep, even though I am exhausted. I just want to be home, with nothing to do.
Nothing to do? What is that all about? I swear, somewhere around here there is a heap of laundry that needs to be folded. Now where is it....?