Demolition.

The dumpster has arrived and with it comes the official consummation of my relationship with 323.  I am giddy with excitement, but my mind is muddied with unfamiliar terms like “fascia” and “furring.”  I have a lump in my throat.  Fortunately, the guys leave little opportunity for cold feet.  A mere three hours later, an overflowing dumpster confirms there is no turning back.  So, the journey begins and I channel my inner-Dorothy from Jerry McGuire:  “I love you for the house you want to be, and I love you for the house you almost are.”