The painter is painting and messing up the floors with his ladder scraping through the nice new layers of wood varnish.
The granite cutters are in the kitchen fitting in a double sink, making a horrendous noise and sending out clouds of dust which are settling on the newly painted still-wet walls.
Clarice, our once-a-week cleaning lady, who is here supposedly to alleviate my stress is having a clumsy day; dropping things, breaking things and spilling things in every room.
I hate this so much, it’s a nightmare.
A complete nighmare.
There is nothing I can do but watch our flat be destroyed in this chaos. I wish everybody would just go away. Finish their jobs and leave me to weep. Then I could begin to mend this damage; sweep, mop, polish, and probably weep a little more.
Who is that at the door NOW? The landlord complaining about the noise pollution probably…
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