far too much writing, far too many photos

When the workers currently engaged in ripping apart rehabbing this building arrived early this morning to begin the daily demolition fiesta, they not only provided the usual soundtrack of yelling/pounding/sawing/hammerdrilling, they thoughtfully provided a bonus track: the noise of scaffolding being erected. A quick glance out the window revealed that it was happening at sidewalk level below this piso, meaning sometime soon — tomorrow, I suspect — they’ll reach this floor and eliminate certain bothersome aspects of life I’ve become used to: sunlight, blue sky, a view of the neighborhood.

(Re: the building across the street — when I arrived in early October, the scaffolding was up, covered with green mesh, rehab was in high gear. The work slowed down not long ago, a few days back the mesh was taken down. The workers have mostly disappeared, but the scaffolding remains.)

Watching all this disruption inching closer is easily as much fun as being poked in the genitals with a sharp stick. So I tried not to watch. I tried writing. Not so easy, it turned out, with all the yelling and clanging. I found myself on my feet, restless, attention all over the place, finally managed to channel energy/focus into pulling open drawers, sorting through accumulated dreck in preparation for next Monday’s bolting. Did okay with that, got things done. (Such an adult.)

Near midday, I heard a familiar voice out in the hallway. Talking on a cellphone, not sounding pleased. The he of my landlords, apparently having made the trip into town to check out the situation above this flat — a situation that supposedly means the obras will be invading this space in the near future, a supposedly he wants to check into, not completely convinced it has to happen. Didn’t sound like he got to see what he came to see, he eventually headed downstairs without knocking on my door to say a friendly (or unfriendly) hello.

The racket outside — in combination with the racket next door — continued through the morning and into the afternoon, scaffolding slowly rising in this direction, things quieting down around 3 when the scaffolding types apparently took off, leaving me with sunlight pouring through windows not yet obstructed. Sighs of relief, mutterings of gratitude to the universe for a slight reprieve.

They’ll be back in the morning, it may be that the deed will be done not long after. Could be I’ll be spending more time at caf├ęs during the next three days, a better option than hanging about here feeling under siege. Or it could be it’ll turn out to be less intrusive than I’ve been imagining. I’ll find out soon enough. One thing’s for sure: this is not a great time. As deeply mixed as my feelings may be about heading back to Vermont, I won’t miss this aspect of what life here’s been like this time around. (The good part: like everything else in this life, it will pass.)

Madrid, te quiero.

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