More (or less) Tiny House

It seems all my time and energy (when not working at the bike shop) is going into getting into my Tiny House haven by the end of the month. One would think I’m taking on the lion’s share of the work—but no, all I’m really doing is lying in bed at night worrying and keeping track of the ticked boxes. I’m not the one wielding the hammer, installing the smoke detector, hanging cabinets. I can be counted on to clean the floor, sweep up sawdust made by the real workers. Namely my son-in-law.

I wish I could do the carpentry, electrical, drilling etc. Then I would have control.

This whole process of having to rely on others, their schedule, their willingness, their being okay with giving up their day off—is the opposite of who I am. I’d much rather work like hell on my own and get it done. This isn’t even a collaboration as I have no skills to bring to the table.

I’m forced to wait and let the thing come together as the days and weeks pile up. This is hard.

Meanwhile—I was over at the place last night and as the sun slowly went down and the blue sky went gray and rose-colored and night noises rose up from a line of trees in a borderland “maintained” by the utility people, I was pleased to just be, to listen, to not know anything except what was all around me. I wasn’t in control.