This story started writing itself last week. For the longest time, I wasn't even aware that it had begun. I was laying awake at night, fretting over this house on 1st Street in Anderson. Then acid reflux set in and I knew that I was deep into stressing over this huge mess. It's a house that was once beautiful but has been so horribly neglected. And our job is to bring it back from the dead.
Last week, laying awake at 3 in the morning, for at least 3 straight nights, thinking about how to go in and turn this thing around, suddenly, it occurred to me that the story had started. The nights of no sleep, my imagination pitching out nasty furnishings, digging up the raccoon poop from the floor and bagging it up before placing it in the dumpster - and not contracting a rare, deadly, raccoon roundworm parasite, figuring out how to get rid of raccoons who might still be living in the attic. Man, this story's got more drama than a daytime soap opera! And did I mention that my husband, who bought the house in the Spring of 2016, wants the cleaning process done in a way that is more complex than an Ocean's Eleven movie? His idea is for us to load this mountain of debris into the back of a pick up truck and take it 4 miles to a dumpster that he has located at another property. How many trips would that take? I don't know. It's just lifting and loading and lifting and dumping. Of course this splits the one job into two jobs - demolition and removal. No wonder I'm losing sleep, my brain is careening out of control.
All I can do is keep a journal of the process and let my stress out onto this site. I will try to take some time and post some pictures and stories of our efforts at the house on First.
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