The Hour of the Wolf

Three a.m. is known as "the hour of the wolf" because that's when all your anxieties rise up with gleaming teeth and attack you in your soft little underbelly.

We have eight days to go and it's hard to see how we are going to be ready. Ian had a large cyst removed from one of the fingers on his right hand yesterday, another removed from his wrist and two removed over his hipbone. He was in a lot of pain when he arrived here at 6:00 pm (now yesterday). He couldn't bend his finger for the swelling. We picked up the cushions, ran one other errand and he went home at 7:45.

This doesn't bode well for getting things done. I still haven't bought the carpet, or found a mover who will return my phone calls. We still have to seal the roof - the most important outside task, but the sealant can't get wet for 48 hours and we've not had two days in a row without rain lately.

The remaining "decor" items I can put off until we are settled in BC, but the roof and carpet can't wait, nor can the tiedowns for the fridge and MW. There's a list as long as my arm of "to buys" yet; towing mirrors, smoke, carbon monoxide and propane detectors, a new fire extinguisher, batteries, various and sundry plumbing supplies, more paint (it appears our goal is to buy at least one litre of every type of paint manufactured in North America). We'll come out of this with half a can left over of about 10 different kinds of paint. Every surface requires its own coating.

The wolf has chewed its way through my innards. I'm going to go drink some Maalox. For some reason I have a stomachache.