Arnold is lying stretched out on the floor of my room. That's right. My room. I reclaimed it from the dust, the paint spatters and the general chaos last night, working until it was sleepable again. The two-seater sofa just didn't do it for me.
The renovation men are still here but I think (blessed insight) the work is slowly winding to a close.
My shifting my stuff from the hall back into the room has freed up some space there. I try and sweep it from time to time but all in all, it's still disgusting. Arnold thinks so. I tied him up to coffee table after he tried to dig up the newly laid concrete (notty boy, notty notty boy) and as somewhere during the night, he tried to scramble up on the sofa with Jules. She woke up to find this heavy thing on her feet, claws digging in.
He got a smack for that.
Today when the workers showed up, Arnold was outside. He started barking at them (a first). Jules said he must have decided that with Dadda gone (Chubs took him to JB for the one-month mass) he is the man of the house and it is his duty to protect us. So I had to go an haul him in (he's getting heavier and harder to carry but his wound is finally healing nicely). Then he takes up watch on the narrow passage in the house with the heaviest traffic, oblivious to all the people who have to step over him to get to where they're going. So I pushed him in the third room with Julie and then after breakfast, brought him to hang out with me. Which is why my little black Angel is stretched out on the floor. I don't think an old dog can grow (other than sideways) but he is looking bigger.
It was nice to scrub everything (I did the windows this morning and reattached the curtains which means my room is now nicely sealed off and private once again. This feeling of choking in dust has been going on for, well, longer than a month. My desk (which I tackled last because I was afraid of it) had been "bersepah" for months and months. I don't remember when I last arranged it. But cleaning yesterday, I found lots of things I thought I had lost. Like a pair of scissors (I had two, then I had none, now I have one), my bum bag (losing this is why I took my bag to the walking path which precipitated in the car break-in and all that followed and I don't remember what else. I only remember that I found stuff which was good.
Arnold is a little flatulent. Or maybe he's drooling. Anyway there is some wet sound emanating from him.
Now I've got my room back I can start planning for Christmas.
But first I have to go find another closet (this one has just about fallen to pieces, another mattress (although I have a new appreciation for this one after my difficult night trying to find a place to sleep when they were painting my room and it had become off limits, various cleaning supplies (including lemon pledge, for the love of God, lemon pledge).
Maybe today the kitchen guys will put the oven in. I don't think the kitchen is cookable yet but now there isn't anymore sand strewn all over the floor (for Hey Arnold! to burrow into so that's an improvement). I have this great desire to scrub floors.
My Arnold is clean because I bathed (scrubbed) him two days ago when Chubs was over watching Monk. Actually it was a pause between episodes during which he went out to buy naan and tandoori and I took young Arnold to the bathroom and tortured him some. (Maybe it's his jaunts in the outside world but he gets stinky after less than a week, requiring another wrestling match in the bathroom).
Now I'll do what Gandalf bid Theoden do when he exorcised Saruman from him and breathe the free air, my friend.
Well, almost free.
Not long now.
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