Little Westside Jonny mildly observed that my terrible, terrible, awful, end-of-the-world contractor problems are not fresh news for those of you who are old FOS (Friends of Seaweed). Here's a thing about having friends in recovery - they actually listen to what you say when you're talking. It's weird. And they often pay close enough attention that they can remember what you've said after you've said it. This is one of the main reasons that I don't lie with the frequency and intensity that I used to - these people remember the details of my lies down to the smallest little manufactured fact. It was a far different situation in my drinking days, when I'd be talking, vaguely aware that I was being offensive or inappropriate, and I'd look at my bar-mate or floormate, depending on my level of inebriation, his eyes glazed or mostly glommed onto the football game trying to escape the static on the shitty TV in the corner of the bar, and know that I could say just about anything I wanted because it was destined to be stored in a mostly inaccessible place.
And then take it up a notch and actually write down your thoughts. There's no hiding from that.
LWSJ is right, of course - I don't have any extra patience with some things if by "some things" you mean "anyone who is trying to liberate some of my money from me." I have worked hard on my perspective every time I'm subjected to an Attack of the Contractors, pretty sure that everything will work out well in the end, but I'm still unable to shake the angst. SuperK and I laugh at the stuff that upsets the other. It seems absurd until it's inside.
A man needs to know his limitations.
The project ended well, of course. The fact that I knew it would didn't stop me from ruining several hours in morbid projection. While we were chatting for a bit before The Contractor left we mentioned that the flue on our fireplace was jammed open. It has a lever on a frame with the markings "Open" and "Closed." I'm not very technical but I thought I could figure this one out. It was clearly marked but inoperable. I tried to fix it myself if by "fixed" you mean "using exponentially increasing force to try to force it to open the $#!! up." I managed only to cover most of my head and face with large amounts of chimney soot. I looked like a character from a Dickens story, except for the Timberlands. The Contractor managed to fix it in under 2 minutes saving me a $100 service call from a different Contractor of some type.
Here's the funny part: the obstruction was some kind of valve or fitting deliberately installed when the fireplace was - apparently - converted from its original wood burning purpose to a gas-only appliance.
Something about the house filling with poisonous, odorless, deadly gas or some shit like that.
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