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by Going Slowly


Tyler wants to do a daily journal. Just a paragraph, he says, about anything he says. We won't even edit it! My eyelids droop. So much to say and so little energy to say it. I'll write more tomorrow, about the blazing sun and the torrential rain and how we got a load of work done on our workshop's concrete form. Lian, I will call you tomorrow. Peace out, world, I'm headed to bed.


We laid insulation for our workshop form today, just like we did for the cottage. I was excited because I felt like we were getting a "second chance" to fix all the little details we missed the first time around. After about three hours of work, we called Rick to see if he wanted to stop by and have a look. He did, and when he arrived and pointed out that I misunderstood an important detail about how we were going to backfill around the form, I was incensed.

The oversight meant spending the next two hours tearing apart much of our pristine work. I muttered several curses about the news, tried hard to dive in and get it over with, then got enraged and let fly a few more curses, these very much out loud. The stupid yelling served no purpose, it just made me more angry. Next, I stormed off the site—I was in no shape to be dealing with power tools.

Ten minutes later, it was back to work, now in the pouring rain. With Rick's help we fixed the problem, and we'll be ready to start the next stages of work tomorrow. Before he left, I apologized for blowing up. He laughed and said, "You call that blowing up? You didn't even throw a hammer at anyone!" Tomorrow, weather permitting, we'll work on the road and order stone to fill the form. I can't wait until all the heavy machinery is gone.