we surrender

we've been thoroughly shocked and awed. we swear.

unfortunately, there's nowhere to retreat to until the 15th. and so i feel something like mrs brisby. at least she didn't have a chat with the farmer, where he flat out told her she was being unreasonable in her queries about when the giant pile of sand might be removed from what had been the parking spaces. and at least a field mouse isn't paying any rent for the nest she's woven in the winter weeds. the farmer might be able to plead ignorance. he didn't know there was a shivering, desperate, brown creature down there. and this is starkly different from my landlords, who know we're here. they must because they email me periodically. and there's no similarity between watching work transpire around you, as your things are cavalierly shoved aside and run over by tractors and contracting work to be done on your own house. at your behest. at least then you feel entitled to yell at the people who aren't careful with your things. and at least you can call them when they run late or early, instead of learning, slowly but surely, that the day you're told something will happen, is guaranteed not to be right. and shy and timorous beastie that i am, all i do is huddle here, and listen to the voices outside speak detachedly about my surroundings. man is the most invasive species there is.

and all his endeavors are littered with refugees and casualties.