Raising the Roof

Writers are by nature introverts, or so I’ve found. I’m no exception. Of course there are the obligatory Christmas and office parties, now occurring with alarming regularity, and dinners with other couples. I'm always up for lunch with a friend or pretty much any outing involving food or drink, especially food. Especially desserts, actually. The Internet expands around me – the tweets and friendings, the blogs and links and likes. Bridges.

But there are limits. Our leaky roof was replaced today, which involved a small army of men in heavy boots clomping around overhead and tossing stacks of tiles that rocked the ceiling. They yelled and nail-gunned and thudded. Lights flashed and flickered. Two gaping holes where skylights belonged left the house freezing and dappled with leaves and dirt, random roofing parts, and eventually faces peering down through the replacement glass. It was like a camping trip gone very wrong.  Oliver the cat flew under a desk, where he sat, clinging to the heater vent until they left, and when I’d had enough, I flew off too, to the closest coffee shop to read, reveling in the solitude and heat – and desserts.

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