90 Years and Counting

If I was allergic to dog hair, I'd be fucked. My walls and floors are thin so you can hear the path of a toilet flush very clearly. I'm half-done, forgotten after they acquired the dog, but the parts that they did look nice. There's light in me now, and the house is filled again with life. I am still held together by glue and desperation, but at least the inside looks nice now. If only they would move some of their skills to the outside and revive my dying garden.