It’s difficult to teach or write when I’m gasping for air and exploding my sinus.
When I was still teaching (1975 – 2005) there were years when walking into the empty classroom in the morning made me sick—and no, I wasn’t allergic to my students.
Then I retired from teaching (but not from life), and I have been free of wheezy lungs and sinus infections that always arrived with the start of each school year when I worked in those old buildings at the high school where I taught. Have you heard of sick building syndrome?
I lived it.
This new, peaceful world changed when workers came with power tools and mud-caked boots.
I should have fled, but I stayed at my computer as a stupid, stubborn, former United States Marine would.
My office has three doors. One that leads to to rest of the house and one that opens to the outside.
Then there is the door that opens to the space under the second story.
Once under the house, that crew drilled into the foundation, pounded, cut and tracked dirt from room to room—always in my office.
I had trouble concentrating. I suffered memory loss. Plastic tarps covered most of the furniture, and I couldn’t find things.
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