It gets better. I got a call at the factory yesterday afternoon. Seems they were putting the wrong shingles on my house. There were two ways to go, said the roofer. They could take off the up-charge I was paying and continue to put the cheaper shingles on the house. That would be the easiest way, he said. Otherwise, they would have to take off the shingles that were already put down and start over.
"Let's go with the shingles I ordered," I said.
So today. . . the roofers are here. . . and they are starting over. This does not make me happy.
I tell you this for your own dark amusement. "But for the grace of God. . . ."
Back at the factory, I am having my brains beaten out. On top of that, the younger, hipper feminist boys and girls are somehow not happy with me. I went to a birthday party for one of them after work and felt the difference. They are one thing, it seems, and I am the oddly shaped dog that is the other. I have sworn not to go to one of those weenie roasts again.
Today I woke up with what seems to be a cold.
I came back from the NYC trip with visions of a more creative life in my head. I saw myself drawing and painting and making new images. How many days ago? Where have those visions all gone?
The roofers are starting again. There is no way for me to write. They are violating the sanctity of my home.
Kafka was right.
No comments:
Post a Comment