Alone in the hovel today - tearing it apart.
Feeling a mixture of relief, anxious anticipation and revulsion.
I wish I had done this right away after I bought this place. I would have known what this thing is really about. But I was not in a position to do it at the time. I was a full time student and reeling from some major changes in my life.
Now that Greg Willis is here to help me with this … project, we have developed a plan. The first step is to map out what is here and put it down on paper in the form of drawings. This is often called “as-built” drawings. Important to have these for communication purposes. This will probably take another couple of days to finish up.
When it comes to the hovel, I’m afraid of things I don’t know and don’t understand. I have put off doing a thorough inspection of this house for years. I guess I didn’t want to know what is really going on under the floor and above the ceiling, partly because it is a huge mess and partly the feeling that I wouldn’t understand what is going on anyway. The stuff I’ve looked at so far just doesn’t look good. What frightens me is the prospect of finding things that will require a huge amount of work and expense.
Finally, help is on the way and this means that the hovel is moving to the next stage!
Did I say that I’m in funk?
Did I mention
the weather moved inside me—
no forecast, just gray.
I just can’t seem to get it together to fix my plumbing. Same old thing.
I come to the house, I feel overwhelmed, get distracted, then leave.
Gotta go back down there, I thought to myself. No choice. I assumed if I inserted myself in that hole again I would feel a little more comfortable. So I did. I needed to squirm into the next bay to get access to the problem. I had stuck a light down into the hole from above so that I could see the point to which to crawl. When I managed to get into the bay, I just lay there for a bit. Looked around.
With my friend Tony helping me out, we prepared to go down under. I borrowed a pair of coveralls, and we got lights and some tools in place.
Some water pipes broke. Again. Winter, apparently, holds a grudge.
The break is in a cruel spot—just under the bathroom floor. Close enough to hear the drip, far enough to be unreachable by any civilized posture. I peer through the access opening and see what appears to be a metallic bowl of spaghetti assembled by a sleep-deprived raccoon. Pipes crossing pipes, angles defying reason. Nothing labeled. Nothing obvious. Just a cold, damp riddle.
Tomorrow is D-Day. I’m going down under!
