Chased out of my own home today, like yesterday, but the sound of heavy powertools being applied to the apartment upstairs. 7:30am they started this morning, for fuck’s sake… who’s together by then? You can still taste the toothpaste. Those sorts of sounds always provoke in me a desire to cause harm to people and property; for them to start before I’ve even had a chance to finish my breakfast means the entire day is totally fucked from the get-go. Furthermore, the lazy c***s have decided to leave the shared door to the stairwell propped open, presumably in order to save themselves the twenty seconds every half hour it might take them to unlock the thing while hauling out rubble, on a day when a cold and sleety storm is blowing in hard…

[ I just wrote around 500 words of cruel, angry stereotyping of the sort of people who work in the building and renovation trade, and deleted it. That sort of rage is cleansing, but not for public consumption. ]

Eh, the universe will have its jokes, won’t it? This is what happens when you decide to quit snus, I suppose: you get your willpower tested hard and fast, right at the start.

Well, then—bring it on. An afternoon in Jesusbaren, trying to keep the work flowing…