I could have moved, but I didn’t want to disconnect all the cables and cart the computer equipment to another room for a few days—something (I soon discovered) would have been impossible without checking into a hotel.
If the school district where I worked for three decades would have let me, I would have rented a space in a nearby strip mall and taught my students away from the sick buildings.
But back in my home office, even with a noise suppresser over my ears, muted sounds intruded and the last place I wanted to be was in that chair writing about China, the Vietnam War or writing about being a teacher in the tortured American public schools.
I stuck with it for several days as my suppressed anger fueled by PTSD started to simmer and fume.
It was a relief when the workers finished. I thought I was going to have the tranquility back where the only noise would be the click of the keys as my warmed hands flew across the keyboard meeting my Blogging goals.
But the workers left something behind.
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