We have a contractor in the house, patching sheetrock and painting. My "office" has been moved into my bedroom. This was the best place to put it but not ideal. My bedroom is my sanctuary; it is supposed to be quiet, sparce. My desk is now right in the middle of my dance space. I have to dance, at least a few minutes every few hours to regulate. Now, I have no dance space. My files are all over my massage table, where I lie down and meditate a couple times a day. Everything is different. It is noisy in the rest of the house. I am very uncomfortable. I am having a difficult time focusing on anything. I must leave now to run important errands. But I'm having a hard time getting ready, can't find anything. Feel like I will forget something important. I'll write more later.
It is somewhat better now. The contractor left for the day. My office is still in my sanctuary. But at least the house is quiet and all his tools are put away. Rumsfeld is as anxious as I am. I know this will sound like projections but I beleive my dog has SPD as well.
I hope the work will be done quickly so you can get back to your usual way of doing things. It's hard to have someone come in and mess things up, and make lots of noise.
I'm still working on ways to regulate myself. I hate when I feel out of whack, feel like I'm always forgetting something.
It is taking a long time. I knew it would. The contractor said two days. I always double what they say. He is here working right now, and he has a helper with him. That makes it twice as bad. Not just the banging around in the house, but they are talking to each other. Every time one of them speaks I loose track of what I am doing. But what words would I use when I stick my head out my bedroom door and ask them not to speak to each other?
I finally broke down and put my earplugs in. That helped. I keep fighting the voice that tells me, "You're not suppose to be this weirded out about people "talking" in your house. Why do you have to be such a baby?" I battle this voice all the time. It's not bad enough being hypersensitive to everything, I've been hardwired to feel ashamed about it. I don't know which is worse, the hypersensitivity or the shame.
And now they're painting. Paint fumes...well I don't have to tell you what that's like. You already know. Which is what's great about a forum like this!
My husband will be home soon and I can leave. I'll drive out to the big library, my home away from home. I need my own room there
Tell the bad inner voice to SHOVE IT! The inner voice doesn't know what it is talking about and is obviously the little devil on your shoulder that needs to be strangled.
I can handle construction a little as long as too much dust isn't kicked up, there is no new carpet being placed, and if no one is painting. Sigh... Yeah... My husband refuses to make any home repairs while I am in the building. It is that or I have to wander to an ER at some point because I can't breathe.
Yes we had some dust issues and it was miserable. My sweet husband was cleaning up after the contractors left. He started sweeping and immediately I felt that fine dust on my skin and in my lungs. I wanted to scream at him. I didn't though. I controlled myself. He just forgot, he was doing what he thought was right. I locked myself in my room and danced until he was finished and the air had cleared.
It's so much better now. Contractors all finished. Paint fumes disipated. Furniture is back to semi-normal. It won't be normal-normal until the project is completed, may be a couple of weeks, may be a couple of months. This sort of thing goes in fits and starts around our house. But my environment is alright, I am alright, life is good.