Intruders!

The electrical wiring in our apartment made me nervous. We'd turn on the outdoor porch light, and immediately blow the circuit for the entire entryway. On the irregular morning where I'd feel like coffee instead of tea, the grinder would have to wait if we were using the microwave. Use them both at the same time, and again: blown circuit. Neither bathroom had power outlets. This left Kate blow drying her hair in the living room, and me with a stubbed toe after any midnight pee. (I love me the nightlight). When the wall outlets died in our bedroom, I finally had to write our landlady and request an upgrade.
Boli, the squat Indian homeowner who rents us our house, was decidedly cheery about my request to spend hundreds of thousands of her rupees. My overt referral to a fire hazard must have had an affect. Kate told me that Boli would send the team of miscreants our way, power saws and wiring in hand.
The problem is that I work from home. When Henry, and I think the readers might remember him as the beer drinking, shade-hanging Dude-lookalike, and the crew show up at 8:30 for a day worth of noise, I'm pretty much hosed. It's hard enough to focus on pipelines when the snow is falling in the mountains and my skis are crying in the closet. When you add into the mix a din of ungodly proportions, this wiring can't get fixed quickly enough.
The good news is that the guys are slated to finish tomorrow, and I'll once again to make toast and hot water at the same time. The bad news: it's snowing like crazy up there, so the distractions continue, regardless.