Lovely dinner with ewx at La Margerita; shame I was too tired afterwards to be much use. I seem to be falling asleep a lot easier at the moment, which is good in a way (certainly makes a change from feeling shattered all the time but not being able to sleep!) but it's not very sociable to fall asleep on people.
Our kitchen has now been completely dismantled and removed, and the new stuff is sitting there in cardboard boxes waiting to be installed. The old units came out fairly easily, as only one of them was actually fixed to the wall... the rest were just (mostly) fixed to each other. There were, as expected, Lovecraftian horrors behind the sink. Not sure what the large black rubbery disc with holes in was for, but we think we killed it.
Roofers turned up this morning for just long enough to demand extortionate sums of money, then vanished. To be fair it has been hailing here, but they vanished before the weather turned.
I thought all this extra time would mean that I managed to get more stuff done, but mostly I'm just wandering aimlessly around the house, doing nothing. I can't even just go back to bed (which seems like the most attractive prospect) or even get into town to get a birthday card for my dad, because I've got to be permanently on hand to let builders in.
I've not made all the phonecalls I should have made, and I've not tidied up. sion_a won't be cross as such, he'll just look distressed at me, and say how hopeless everything is, and how "we'll" never get everything done. "We" don't get anything done.
I'm feeling dreadful about having chosen the wrong builders. sion_a was getting to the stage where he was permanently on the verge of tears about the fact that I hadn't phoned any roofers yet, so I chose the ones who were to hand; but it looks like they're worse than leaving the roof unfixed.
I feel like the house we're building is a monument to futility and misplaced hope. The builders who fail to turn up are just another bit of the pattern of endless deferral. Too much difference.
And I feel trapped by everything. I feel like I have nothing left of me to call my own, everybody wants a piece of me for their own reasons, and half of them want me to be somebody I'm not. Different Barbie dolls with different dresses, different neuroses, removable personalities. Comes with her own accessories: a wardrobe full of clothes that make her feel ugly; over 50 pairs of shoes; and a mile-high stack of unread books -- other people's opinions that she's waiting to consume, other people's words that she's waiting to write on her body.
At least Barbie dolls can't post predictable pseudo-intellectual teen-angst rubbish to LiveJournal, though. And if you get bored of them, you can always just rip their heads off.