The trash gods are on summer vacation. Either that or they are patiently waiting for me to finish with all the things they filled my wagon with last month before starting the next avalanche. Either way the trash across the street smells horrible, and the trash bags are full of aggressive wasps instead of building supplies and kitchen appliances and shoes. I try to force myself to do at least one thing on the wagon every single day. Slowly, slowly, slowly, I inch forward.
At the beginning of the week Rabbit helped me rip the boards off of one of the narrow ends of the wagon. I crowbarred and he pulled off the boards, one by one. Then my arms told me to fuck off, and he ripped off the last row himself. I think he may be my guardian construction angel. Either way he helps and keeps me calm with constant declarations of how easy everything will be, while most everyone else sarcastically tells me to “have fun doing that” and walks away.
Inside of the wall we found a wasp’s nest, a mouse’s nest, and two tiny bottles of Jagermeister. And now I have to face the two rotten corner beams (and the corners of the upper and lower support beams on both sides). Fuck you, wood-eating worms, for putting me up to this.
I asked The Carpenter for advice, and he gave me a general direction, and a headache. A literal headache. But some very good advice. The headache came from the fact that I never bothered to learn any German construction vocabulary, so now I ask for help and get long, detailed instructions that I don’t always entirely understand, even when I ask for clarification. What I could really use is a building guru—someone to show me everything step by little step. To stand beside me and say, now you need this saw, and you need to cut here. Then I could go get the saw and make the cut and receive my next set of instructions. Hands on experience without all the feelings of anxiety at the sheer mass of shit I have to learn how to do, and then do, before winter comes.
I don’t think anyone believes me when I tell them I have no building experience. “I’ve hung shelves and that’s the extent of it,” I told Workshop last week. “Are they still hanging?” he asked. I pointed to the corner of the room where several wooden wine cases were screwed into the wall. “Well, it’s a start.”