I woke up to the smell of rain.
I have been dreading its arrival, me who loves it so much.
I have been dreading it because the house is still missing its doors, windows and skylights.
But also, maybe mostly, because I feel that I am not ready to let in its intensity right now.
Because THERE HAS BEEN SO MUCH.
It has become painfully clear that there are some high levels of lack of competence with the work being done. It is early in the morning and I have a big day ahead (as I will talk about in a bit) and so I don't want to start it with an ugly list but let's just say that starting the Saturday before last, this reality has come to the surface and has not left.
It means many conversations, Jorge firing half the crew - even though I have a different opinion about what the root problem is - and an overall exhausting situation. His shoulder hurts, there are money gaps that need to be filled and I am learning dizzy fast the ways in which I should have done things differently.
I am lucky enough (still guided, I believe) to be able to connect with "plan Bs" left and right but man oh man, what a ride. Every day I talk with new people, learn, pivot, re-hire, advocate for myself and my house, keep going and stay at it. Through disappointments and an over abundance of over-promising and under-delivering.
And then, there was last weekend.
Last weekend was the first time in over twenty years that I wished I was married, partnered or otherwise "not going at it alone."
The thought (it was more of a feeling) washed over me as I was pushing a wheelbarrow full of dried up terrible muck across the field in mid-day sun - for the third time.
The water "treatment" plant.
It's been a bit of a nightmare. While there seemed to be some progress, along with again, promises, there are zero results. Bottom line is that black water is being dumped, untreated and by the gallon, very close to my house. I had not seen the actual hose until last week and good god, is this ever an ugly situation. BAD. Illegal. And because we are where we are, possibly impossible to tackle.
Sunday morning I came by to check on things and saw that the waters had almost reached my house. Swirling with black grossness, there it was. My house the only thing in the way of it running downhill to god knows where.
I was so upset and feeling helpless that I knew I had to take some distance. My friend and I went to the beach and the pelicans, happy children and a couple of ice creams helped.
I have been working so hard on advocating for this and that and this again INSIDE the house, and now, this ... attack. I almost wanted to run away. Give up. Forget the whole thing.
I did some writing, tried to find some grounding, reminded myself that this was just a house, an expenditure of time and money. My kids were fine, the birds were still singing.
A bit of Clarity came my way about "the next right step" and I postponed the installation of the solar panels, canceled the palaparo.
Meanwhile inside, two beautiful handmade counters were being built out of polished concrete, and the bedroom floor was drying from a magical looking treatment (which I have learned to do). I was grateful to have been able to connect with people who could do this.
But in a way, it felt a bit like madness or delusion to be doing all of this, in such a hostile environment. Lipstick on a pig came to mind so many times.
Monday morning I arrived to find most of the black waters dried up and someone mentioned something about "you thought you wanted to move to the country but it looks more like Iraq."
Minutes later, I was buying a pineapple enpenada from the man on the corner and he asked me how I was. That's when the tears inconveniently started to flow. Darn.
I needed help. This was too much. Just too freaking much. In a way it still is.
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