July 11th, 2005

Looking Over My Shoulder

My son is coming to live with us.

Or at least park his gear with us while he does his living elsewhere.

So we're clearing a room for him.

This involves me in sawing up furniture and burning papers.

Which is uncomfortably close to what domestic murderers do.

And it's not as if I had half an acre to work in.

All this mayhem is going on in a tiny back yard and I'm in constant fear- what with the air and noise pollution I'm causing- that someone is going to pop their head over the back gate and go, "Hey, you!"