9. The Madness

I fear the reno madness has set in. I can hear a constant scraping sound coming from the walls. I am compelled to pick at any peeling paint found on the bus or on passing lamp-posts. At work, if I lose concentration, my hands make involuntary motions as if repairing some unseen ghostly wall from another dimension. My hair, irrevocably full of fine plaster dust, although fuller looking with a firm, chalky body long since found naturally, has given me the impression of a cartoon professor on the verge of a breakthrough.

Strange visitors have been seen queueing up outside the house.

Strange, ancient writing has begun to appear on the sandstone walls.

I keep the living room nice and tidy. Did someone move that box?! I keep it here, next to THIS one.

We cook in huge quantities.

Gen has taken to living in the garden and thousand-yard stares at the walls for hours.

I have taken to transforming myself into a magpie and fiercely guarding the laundry on the verandah.

But I'm always glad when Gen finally lets me out from under the floor where she keeps me safe.