18 hour days. New muscles in my wrists. Thousands of square feet of paint and flooring. More rain. I'm so tired I could almost sleep standing up. Polyurethane fumes, and the report of the pneumatic nailer over and over again. Last night listening to the radio at 2:30 am we realized we've become their target audiance: depressed, financially strapped, and awake doing things we'd rather not be doing.
But somehow we keep putting one foot in front of the other. Friends came and helped us move the big stuff and left us with maple candy and red wine, and soon the floors will be dry and we'll be able to sleep early and deep wrapped in the sound of rural silence: a chorus of frogs and owls welling up. Tomorrow we'll be sleeping somewhere else. Not sure where yet, but somewhere.