One thousand, forty-four days. That’s how long First Reader and I have been un-homed.

Our contractor has not done a bloody thing since they placed the house on July 10. Wait, I take that back. They sealed the gables in the days following the delivery. Now, we wait for contractors to decide whether the drive is worth the pay. And there again, I have a feeling we are being taken advantage of—because they can. Once more, I’ll drain more of my retirement for “deposits” to get the job “started.” We’re still waiting on state funds. I believe hell might freeze over before that happens.

Needless to say, between waiting until the sun burns out while we wait for the government to approve anything, and another week recovering from the plague, our spirits are low. We both tested negative earlier this week, but the cough is persistent and the fatigue is real. And First Reader got hit harder than I.

We’ll keep on our contractor, and hold his feet to the fire. Fall is just around the corner. The trees are telling me that much. With luck, maybe some actual work will begin this week.