plane tender_square the door i spent hour upon hour scraping and sanding and patching and painting and hanging doesn't fit the frame. mom took the level and held it every which way. we consulted the snot-coloured liquid within, the bubble that showed balance. where the tongue meets groove a taper pitches toward the floor at one-sixth of an inch. it's not the hinges that dad and i adjusted five times. the door needs to be laid on its side and shaved with a plane with the motor of pure muscle. i cried and swore and caved and called a contractor for help. i have given up going it alone. 230309 what's it to you? who go blather from