countdown to the breakdown
dos equis saved me from careening over the brink ages and ages (three weekends) ago by kidnapping me that sunday. the weather was so stunning, the experience so much an escape and the pressure on the inside of my skull so seriously relieved that our one-day getaway felt like a week in tuscany. his tactile shirt matched the room. the room matched the chardonnay he uncorked upon our arrival. the chardonnay probably matched something else, but mostly it just cooled me wee brain.
before, and since, i have been reminding myself to count my blessings and attempt to be zen. because...the roof still ain't right, although the six-foot section of exhaust pipe that the roofers ripped out and which subsequently crashed onto the kitchen floor has been replaced – but not completely sealed, because the roofers expected me to supply the screws (?!). this after a week of the downstairs neighbors inadvertently blasting noxious exhaust fumes directly into my loft – the one where i work and sleep and write incoherent run-on sentences and, ideally, not asphyxiate. then there's the fact that everything but the kitchen is covered in plastic sheeting and dropcloths so that cleanup of tar bits and plaster and not-asbestos* dust will be a snap later. oh, and when i came back from my thanksgiving holiday, the first without my mom expertly turning out her usual extravagant feast, i found my down comforter, feather bed and futon soaked through with dirty rainwater that had leaked through my skylight, a skylight that had previously not leaked until the roofers came and demolished our sad but mostly functional excuse for a roof.
so maybe it's because i've been sleeping on the loveseat in the middle of the dance floor underneath a springtime-weight sleeping bag and half-aired-out down comforter that i woke up with a scratchy throat this morning. it was frigid last night, but i can either keep some of the windows cracked or kill an unacceptable amount of brain cells with the exhaust that is right now seeping through the bolt holes of the half-repaired exhaust pipe. my landlady flagrantly writes off my diplomatically worded complaints as petty whining and refuses to reimburse me for a new futon. my lease-holding roommate is out of town. my bed is a petri dish of mildew. much as i love this loft, i think perhaps it would be wise to move on after i get this assignment done. did i mention that part? the part about having three weeks left to write 67% of this current gig? my life disaggregrating sort of reduced the amount of time i have to boot this part of it out the door. both the living and working parts of my live-work situation have been sticking pins into my voodoo simulacrum lately.
OK, i can't tell if my face is hot because i'm drinking shiraz as a cold remedy, or because carbon monoxide fumes are accumulating under my moroccan tent (=office). if i don't get carted away in a white jacket by the end of december, would anyone with leads on good living situations kindly let me know tout suite?
* fingers crossed!
before, and since, i have been reminding myself to count my blessings and attempt to be zen. because...the roof still ain't right, although the six-foot section of exhaust pipe that the roofers ripped out and which subsequently crashed onto the kitchen floor has been replaced – but not completely sealed, because the roofers expected me to supply the screws (?!). this after a week of the downstairs neighbors inadvertently blasting noxious exhaust fumes directly into my loft – the one where i work and sleep and write incoherent run-on sentences and, ideally, not asphyxiate. then there's the fact that everything but the kitchen is covered in plastic sheeting and dropcloths so that cleanup of tar bits and plaster and not-asbestos* dust will be a snap later. oh, and when i came back from my thanksgiving holiday, the first without my mom expertly turning out her usual extravagant feast, i found my down comforter, feather bed and futon soaked through with dirty rainwater that had leaked through my skylight, a skylight that had previously not leaked until the roofers came and demolished our sad but mostly functional excuse for a roof.
so maybe it's because i've been sleeping on the loveseat in the middle of the dance floor underneath a springtime-weight sleeping bag and half-aired-out down comforter that i woke up with a scratchy throat this morning. it was frigid last night, but i can either keep some of the windows cracked or kill an unacceptable amount of brain cells with the exhaust that is right now seeping through the bolt holes of the half-repaired exhaust pipe. my landlady flagrantly writes off my diplomatically worded complaints as petty whining and refuses to reimburse me for a new futon. my lease-holding roommate is out of town. my bed is a petri dish of mildew. much as i love this loft, i think perhaps it would be wise to move on after i get this assignment done. did i mention that part? the part about having three weeks left to write 67% of this current gig? my life disaggregrating sort of reduced the amount of time i have to boot this part of it out the door. both the living and working parts of my live-work situation have been sticking pins into my voodoo simulacrum lately.
OK, i can't tell if my face is hot because i'm drinking shiraz as a cold remedy, or because carbon monoxide fumes are accumulating under my moroccan tent (=office). if i don't get carted away in a white jacket by the end of december, would anyone with leads on good living situations kindly let me know tout suite?
* fingers crossed!
posted by a wandering eye at 9:59 PM
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