Beep, beep, beep.
Blissful dreams become distant memories. My eyes open to a symphony of earth moving and destruction. I drag myself out of bed, groggy and groaning, because those sounds will continue well into the evening and I’m powerless to stop them.
Don’t even get me started on how Alejandra feels about this!
They’re building a new parking garage catty-corner to our apartment. There’s a beer and pizza joint that’s absolutely bursting at the seams. They can’t accommodate the vortex of hipsters and vehicular traffic. Come visit sometime. When you do, we’ll go to the pizza place and I’ll do my best to convince you to order the Armadillo. Trust me.
This construction has been a constant companion during my workdays. Most of the time I can tune it out. But on the worst days, the devilish beeping has me wound as tight as a spring. Combine that with the nearby daycare, and you have the perfect recipe for one stressed out writer.
Maybe they’ll finish the parking garbage before we move out. Maybe not. Regardless, it won’t be long before we run into the next highway being widened, apartment complex being built, or old Victorian being renovated.
As much as I love complaining about all this, that isn’t the purpose of this post. All the construction happening here in town got me thinking.
Yes, places change and grow. There’s always some type of construction happening.
But what about people?