It's on two pressure-treated skids about 1.5 meters apart running down the center -- the width, in this view. I started in December when the ground was frozen. But, actually, I've been retro-fitting concrete-founded stones, and every corner visible except the rightmost is set upon stone. There's one tie-bar there by the door sunk into a bulk of concrete and stone.
the last woman I asked out was my doctor, about a year ago. I saw her at the Habitat for Humanity store then, and when I asked her she said "I'd love to." But she didn't. I think my texting skills were insufficient.
Sheetrock doesn't lie around construction sites the way lumber does, and thus it is not within the parameter of prime directive "make what i've got in mind with what i've got on hand." I may plaster some -- and may find sheetrock. OSB can look okay and the inside environment will be susceptible to disruptive modification for some time. I want it all climbable for cat and human, for example.
There's nothing that can't be ruined by people in accord. There's no scourge like people in agreement, as whom there is nobody so stupid.
One of the reasons it's on skids is that that's one of the ways to be compliant. That and the fact that it's under 200 square feet makes it legal enough. It's a movable shed.
Thanks, Scott. I was glad to see your dad at the funeral. We all appreciated that. I wasn't as glad to see Jodie but it was better than her not being there.
I've probably learned something about the heart of women that she disacknowledged me knowing we'd see each other at a funeral. I hope not, but still fear so.
If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.
My dad was dying, and i got sent on a horrible pressure-washing job. 'I had to talk to customers. I noticed doing windows that my wrist was not flexible extended. I mentioned it, didn't think about it much, but couldn't do the next two jobs. I wouldn't have wanted to. Dad died and we had the funeral. But I would have done the work if I could have; just couldn't.
Churches ought to come with a warning label that there is a lack of evidence for various claims at the basis of their operations. Deception itself is at the basis of many a harmful relationship, and so the veracity of essential claims by an institution ought to be considered within the realm of scrutiny. And, where they fail scrutiny, this information should be available -- especially to kids and others whose attention is captive.
pasa por lo que hoy es ...
It's easy to build a case against somebody in your own mind, and among the susceptible if you persist. And when you believe, you can begin to see evidence. You can do this to anybody. No intelligence is required, nor any special skill-set. All you have to do is believe. And to believe, all you have to do is want to. Apparently. I don't know. Shriveled hearts are inscrutible.
My Dad died a few days after I hurt my arm at work. He was sick, right at the end, and ready to go. We had a funeral.
I couldn't do the next two pressure-washing jobs that week, and relinquished the equipment -- the truck, my transportation. I worked at my own project, dialing down the impact on my right arm until I had to quit using it. I'm seeing doctors. The Oregon Health Plan is a bright spot in this story: shoutout to OHP.
My family doesn't believe I'm hurt. They want me to get back to work. Jeff and Doug were shouting at me on Sunday. Mom is more subtle. Mom's questions are a cold knife.
I can't get unemployment (yet, anyhow) because there's no report of my work. The one who does the books apparently drank the money she said was for my taxes. I don't know. We'll see.
I think it's the right hemisphere of me noggin kicking in. Kicking ass. I'm sensitive, dammit! A tough guy and family friend was rude to me at the funeral. Later, he came to the house and refused to speak to me. So I know he's talking me down. Jeff is drinking, so he's providing the crazed preacher bombast. (Jeff has helped me more than anybody, but he's drinking and he's not a good drunk anymore.) Doug is maleable, as are the women.
And the word is against me, across the board and at all frequencies. If I said it it's not true and if I can prove it then it's unimportant. They don't want to help me or for me to get help, and yet suppose that I should hear their critique, answer their questions.
And get back to work.