The house is a construction zone again. Antosh the stair guy is about half-way through making and installing the stringers and treads. Risers and the landing are down the road a ways. The sitting room is not a fun zone, and the staircase is an obstacle course. The project will probably take the rest of this week.

This house was built with broadloom in the bedrooms and the hall, and on the stairs. When the carpet was ripped up (cue the great cloud of dust), there was nothing but three-quarter-inch plywood subfloor under it. “Nice flooring” is not found under broadloom in a house like this, built as cheaply as possible and on spec for the working-class and lower middle-class market.

I have been piddling away at sorting out my study, making little progress since I unpacked the last box and loaded the filing cabinet. The heap of tattered papers ranging in importance from critical (house deed) to garbage (sales slips from the gas station) makes my heart sink whenever I look at it. I know I will eventually get my shit together and deal with it but, until I do, it radiates guilt and worry at me.