On my last nerve (and I do have one, hanging on by a thread)

I actually think "My last nerve" would be a great name for a blog. I may have to start another one because, Lord knows there is plenty of material for that, what with everybody and everything getting on it (my last nerve) these days.

Seven a.m. and after a fitful night with no real sleep, I am startled out of semi consciousness by the sound of a giant cement mixer, churning away across the street from me. Not only that, the machine is causing so much vibration that several things fall crashing to the floor. I was all wigged out - not my good crystal, not again - but it was only keys, etc. Thank God.

Let me explain. My street, Fay Drive, is a tiny cul de sac just off of Laurel Grove in Kentfield. There is a total of ten homes on Fay. In the past three years, three houses have been sold, torn down, and rebuilt. Not all at once, mind you, but consecutively so just as one project is finishing and you think there may once again be peace in Ross Valley, another project starts, more dozers, more mixers, more fucking carpenters and day laborers using my front yard for a picnic ground (I have become adept at turning on the sprinklers).

Is it too much to ask for - a little peace and quiet on the home front? Maybe not during the week but say, on a weekend? I would love to relax out by the pool (and I know I am damn lucky to have one, or so I am told by people who do not have the expense and headache of maintaining one). Anyway, relaxing by the pool on the weekends is not even possible, there is always some clunk hammering away. No wonder people are wound so tightly these days - we never get a chance to actually relax at home.