in which i learn no lesson, discover no hidden truth, except for my decided fondness of being dry.
About 3 weeks ago now, my basement apartment flooded. When the water began to gush through my ceiling panels and start pooling on my floor, washing over my TV display and furniture, I numbly gathered up my frightened kitten, Morgo, and placed her in a bubble backpack which I slung backwards over my chest. I stuffed my work laptop into my backpack, gathered my phone and wallet, moved my furniture and bookshelves into the middle of the driest area of my apartment unit, and stood for hours outside my threshold as the slimy, silty water soaked my previously quaint living arrangements.
Old buildings are tough to deal with, and my building suffered a mainline pipe bursting that day, which was only shut off after two and a half hours, more than enough time for the water to drain from the 3rd floor all the way to my one bedroom, one bath and rest there.
I was doing pretty well, honestly, up until that point. I had adopted Morgo and was re-navigating the joys and frustrations of raising a hyperactive kitten. I had a great streak going, having made it up and to class each week this semester (even though it was scheduled at 9am). I was visiting the farmers market regularly, cooking for myself even more frequently. I was considering ripping off the band-aid and trying to hit the gym. I was planning my excursion to Apache Point Observatory with classmates (I’ll blog about that sometime soon, with lots of pictures, I promise).
Now, the careful balance I had struck has crumbled to dust. Three weeks out, and after living with friends, in airbnbs, and hotels for two weeks, I’m back in my dried out crib. I won’t be here for long, because the place still isn’t repaired, and the flooding exposed asbestos wrapped pipes that crisscross my ceiling like a Windows XP screensaver. So I’m waiting in limbo while an asbestos removal is scheduled, which will displace me for another week. This time, I’m not sure if my insurance will pay to put me up somewhere, or if my landlord will, or if I’ll have to rely on my own pocket change and the goodwill of my friends again. I’m already pretty bad at asking people for help. Then, once the asbestos is torn out, my baseboards and walls need to be rebuilt and repainted, and who knows how long that will take. All this time, Morgo can’t live with me, and has been taken care of by her amazing godparents, Mallory and Damani.
What a mess, right?
The worst part about misfortune, is that there’s never a clean break between the bad times ending and the good times starting. I can’t look forward to the day this will be over and past me, because in a month I’ll still be trying to catch up on work, set my finances in order, get back on the bull, so to speak. I can’t return home to a newly cleaned and repaired apartment, I have to shuffle around waiting for months, living out of my suitcases until things get pieced back together. At least Noah had his animals to keep him company. I don’t even have mine.
Life continues, and my wonderful friends and colleagues have all supported me tremendously during this ordeal. Soon I hope I can catch a break or two. I seem to be fumbling the ball recently, no? Anyways, just writing this to update folks on where I’m at.
Clear skies.
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