Breach of Contract - Forgiveness
I sure hate that the current dream of an aeroponics lab and rooftop garden has been forced into legal proceedings. The dream has already survived a diverse stream of broken promises, all the way back to the 5th grade teacher who convinced me I had the talent to make Madame Curie look like a lazy housewife, even with the speech defect. I suspect it will survive a contractor's Breach of Contract, as well. 'Taint the first time I've been lied to. This particular dream -in its creative array of renditions- has gotten pretty good at surviving harsh realities. Tendrils of it have been present in every therapuetically coached "Safe Place" I have ever constructed. Therapist approved? I try to take the too many times efforts to develop this dream have been crushed in a spirit of, "Back to the drawing board. Design improvements required."
The contractor has convinced the lawyer he sincerely wants to finish the job. My father was good at the sincerity act, also. He could trade pleasure time with one of his brood for contract forgiveness more easily than any of his brood could get him to respect their childhood. Still. . . Whatever the similarities, the contractor isnae my father.
The email exchange with the newly hired lawyer rambled through the potentials for Legal Forgiveness. Can the contract be re-negotiated in Legal Good Faith? So far, I amnae quite believing the sincerity as filtered through the lawyer any more than I believed it on the day I fired his irresponsible ass. This week's excuse for not moving that public health and safety hazard is sounding allot like the excuses I've been listening to for two solid months, even when filtered by a lawyer. In the last email, the lawyer fessed up that she hadn't realized it was in a populated area. She was thinking in terms of the 5 acre subdivision she lives in. A moldering pile of demolition debris isn't much of a problem there.
Still sorting. . . This is the first time I have been betrayed on a handshake deal. Ouch upon ouch. My faith in personal honor is. . . More ouch.
I still haven't cleaned out the tower garden. Persilly shit on the living room floor in front of the tower garden while I slept fitfully. First time she's done that since her first night out of the pound. The piles are still there. She's avoiding me this morning.
Calling all Prayer Warriors. . . Prayers needed.
Replies
Prayers in progress,Dear arfie...
Methinks I need to be monitoring for flashbacks today. The correlations between the contractor and the kiddie whorehouses seem to be growing at a psychotic speed. Saluting all psycho nag flags.
Many of the houses my parents dragged my 10 siblings through were in the working class one acre paradises I watched chew through what's left of the world's wild lands like bore weevils. Be they in Bolivia, Europe or North America, they all feel the same to my senses. Many of my siblings still favor those subdivisions. The sibs get mad at me for calling them, "Subdivisions," though. They call it, "Country Living." I watch my grammar around other one acre paradise residents, also. Some of my early exposure therapy was to take walks in one of those one acre paradises. Despite that therapy, I still prefer to keep my vehicle doors locked and my windows rolled up.
There are tons of those one acre paradises here in the River Region, as well. Research still underway, but I believe the contractor specializes in those one acre paradises. He lives in one. Conducts his business from one.
Today's small towns have got the brightest lights
Bitter divorces and consumer fights
Country hospitality says, "Get out of here!"
With taller fences and security
Don't wanna be your country western song.
Give me family values and a fertilized love
Give me hard-line truths in a rhythmic glove
Give me out of tune voices in the key of life
And you'll get me feeling alright
Prayer flags a-flappin'. Or whatever you prefer.
Thank you, Silver and Leo. All the names for ^it^ work for me. I am multi-lingual. Support appreciated.
Triple hugs and a bushel of prayers~
(((hugs))) What is his excuse THIS time? Is it still the weather?
I am long past caring about excuses. 3 months of excuses is already equal to a full month in breach of contract. Time to shit or get your ass off the pot so somebody else can get the job done, my unavailable Sir.
Sending you many prayers & blessings ((((Arfie)))))