I brought Arthur to my client’s office yesterday. She’s out of town, and told me he was most welcome to keep me company. He hates traveling on the subway, but I can tell that he loves going everywhere with me, because he smiles up at me a lot and likes to sit right on top of my feet.
We woke to the exciting arrival of the roofers, here to fix my leaking bedroom ceiling, and I figured having him with me would be better for him than leaving him at home to all the ruckus. Am I ever glad I brought him along!
We came home at around 4:00 to find the entire apartment filled with thick, blue smoke from the tarring going on overhead. Because there was a gaping hole in the ceiling, all of the smoke had found its way into the apartment, and it was like a four-alarm fire. Thankfully, I left my patio doors open, so that helped a little, but my landlady freaked when she came upstairs, and dispatched immediately for an industrial fan. The night before last, at an impromptu bbq at my friend Oonagh’s, I wistfully told the gathering that all I wanted was for all of my clothes to smell like campfire. Be careful what you wish for, I suppose.
All is well now. The smoke has been cleared out, and though whatever they were doing on the outside of the roof totally burned the insulation on the inside, there seems to be no real lasting damage. I chalk it up to one more exciting way to claim my apartment.
I’m claiming my space in all kinds of exciting ways, and I so look forward to having my own complete bathroom, and spacious bedroom, and fully stocked kitchen. I can’t wait to have a dinner party here, and thank my friends properly in my home for all of their love and support. I can’t wait to unpack!
I’m building lots of love into the living room right now, that’s for sure. It’s where I sleep, and dream, and write, and work, and….hmm…play. It’s one very, very happy corner of my chaotic home.
So, if the apartment is a metaphor for my inner state of being, I’ve got one small corner that is functioning beautifully, which makes me realize that I don’t need much to survive. The rest is like a chrysalis, biding its time until it can unfurl into something truly magnificent. Or maybe the small corner IS my chrysalis, where I am cocooning, and dissolving into primordial goo, only to resurface soon with seriously kick-ass wings and antennae that don’t miss a damn thing.
The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire…
I could sleep for a week…
There is a reason why in ancient civilizations women went away from the tribe to weather out their menses. (Oh, FYI this blog entry is all about periods. Stop reading now if that makes you feel funny.) If I had no calender to refer to, I would always know when I’m about to get a visit from Aunt Flow because I feel like I’ve lost my skin. I become ridiculously sensitive, and more than a little anxious. If I had a choice, I would check out from the world this week, and spend the time sleeping, watching sweeping costume epics, eating chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven, taking baths and reading books. That’s what my cave would look like.
There would be no boys to confuse me, or make me feel awkward and uncertain. My girlfriends would brush my hair, and we would bake under the sun and whisper secrets to each other. Nobody would care that I’m bloated, and nobody would mind that I just want to cry for no apparent reason.
There would be a rocky outcrop to haul myself up to after a moon-lit skinny dip, and I would dry myself in the warm night air, while I felt the moon reminding me of my connection to the universe (apparently my period also turns me into a hippie). I’m not sure how we would McGuiver this, but there would be a hot fudge machine and an endless supply of vanilla bean ice cream and slightly salted cashews in my menstrual cave too. And all of the seasons of Sex And The City.
I would only be either naked or in flannel jammies, foot and bum rubs would happen without me even having to ask, there would always be a fresh pot of tea, a fluffy chick lit book to pick up, and the phone would only ring when my mom missed me, or cute boys wanted to tell me sweet things.
In summary; don’t ask me what’s wrong, because now you know, ok?
What’s wrong with me? Whenever anyone has ever asked me if I play a musical instrument, I have only one answer prepared, which is seldom ever appropriate to use. Though entirely accurate, people are usually offended by this response.
This is topical, I swear. I went to the Orbit Room tonight with some musician pals. Inevitably, someone asked the question. I answered with a demure “I sing a little”, but that’s not what first popped into my head.
Maybe it’s the heat. Or the sudden cavalcade of sun-dresses. Or the simple fact that I feel completely and utterly free. Whatever it is, I danced up a storm tonight. People, if you want to feel alive and happy, go to the Orbit Room on a Saturday night and check out the A-Team. You will have to dance, and you will also sweat up a storm, but if you’re like me you won’t stop grinning the entire time. I was toe-taping at first, but it quickly turned into a booty-shaking frenzy, and I felt like I was fully and completely in my body. I also felt like that for a little while on Thursday night. Both moments have yielded a fantastic, full-body glow. Thank you to all parties involved.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am gloriously happy. I have no idea what’s in store for me, but I am ready and willing to enjoy the ride, and every cliche I can make you gnaw on along the way.
I introduced my incredible sixteen year old cousin to Zepplin last week, and I sincerely hope that I rocked her world a little. I feel like Zepplin and Rick James are my soundtrack these days. If you can imagine that mental landscape, I’m sure it involves fun fur and sunburned, freckled shoulders, bare feet and ice cream, huge gold hoop earrings and terry-cloth tube tops, roller skates and leopard print sheets. Bubble gum and chocolate-covered mushrooms.
It’s so late, and I don’t think any of this makes sense.
The summer of Cat has begun.
Because mine isn’t. It also smells like mushrooms and has begun to sprout mold.
(insert mighty, world-weary sigh here.)
I’m definitely off my game. The last four days have been exhausting, and I don’t want to start whining, or sound like I’m engaging in any form of self-pity, but I am just really ready to have a home of my own, with a fluffy bed to curl up in, and my doggie snoring happily away at my feet.
I cleaned my toilet tonight. I tried to imagine what the bathroom will look like when it’s all finished. I think I’m going to have to take some before pictures for you, so you can really see what I’m dealing with. The tub is going to be awesome. It’s really big and deep. I will be as decadent as a gal can be with such a tub. There will be bubbles, and candles, and champagne, and I will soak away two months of couch surfing, and generally bad ju-ju.
The gaping hole in the wall where the dormer is in my bedroom is next, hopefully. It’s scary. Imagine the architectural equivalent of a sucking chest wound. All the flesh has been ripped back, and you get a clear view of all of the bones and innards, there is a strange smell, and I’m sure there are things living in there. It’s leaking too. Apparently there is no point in fixing that part until the roofers fix the leak, and nobody seems to know when that is happening.
I learned tonight that there’s a small corner of my apartment where if you vacuum, the vacuum cleaner throws sparks, and if you touch any of the metal parts, you get a shock. I tested this phenomenon over and over, and it’s just in one small corner. I’m sure it’s a simple explanation that has everything to do with physics, but my brain just doesn’t work like that.
I moved some things around to try to make the place look more homey. I feel like I’m a long way away from homey, for sure. Thank god I have a couple of house-sitting options lined up. I just have to get through next week, and it’s smooth sailing until July, I hope!
If I won the lottery, I would hire a kick-ass contractor to bring in a team to reno the whole house. Then I’d buy it. Then all of this insanity would be worth it, because I’d have equity and be a real grown up.
For now, I’ll just have to keep on the sunny side, and try to organize the chaos. It might be a good exercise in purging!
(Does anyone know how to take out windows so you can clean them??? I don’t think the rope and pulley system I’ve fashioned is going to support my weight.)