I think when Chris attempted to open the drawer with the silverware and the front of the drawer came off entirely is the exact moment when I decided maybe it would be better if I simply went to bed for the next couple of months.
So here’s the story. Last Friday was moving day. We knew it would be a long day. There was one truck being loaded for the storage facility. And a second truck was being loaded for the apartment. Two trucks, four men and six hours.
Chris got to the apartment with one truck while I stayed back at the house cleaning our way out the door. When he called to say they were done and headed to the storage facility, he mentioned that the apartment smelled.
Awesome.
They told us earlier in the week the carpet was being replaced. I was less than thrilled. New carpet has formaldehyde. Yep. The stuff used to preserve dead bodies. If you buy a new rug, it’s likely there too. It’s the “new” smell.
Go head. Let that sink in.
So I wasn’t necessarily surprised there was a smell. But I wasn’t expecting to be knocked over by a smell. And not new carpet.
Smoke.
Like a bar. In a college town. At 2:00 am.
Not that I would know or anything because I was home every night in college.
(Love you mom!)
We discussed it all afternoon while we unpacked. Surely the carpet installers must have been smoking. The place had been painted and there was new carpet. No way it should smell this bad after all that. It’ll go away soon.
In the meantime, we started making the list of all the stuff that needed to be fixed.
The closet door was off its track. I didn’t even know they made closet doors this heavy. It’s like lead.
The plumbing in the bathroom is leaking. Making the cabinets wet. Because wet wood is never a problem at all.
The sink doesn’t shut off. Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip. All. The. Time.
The bottom shelf in the fridge is cracked. So we can’t put a whole lot on that shelf. Reducing our shelf space by a third. Fabulous.
And oddly enough, the stove eyes were missing drip pans. Seriously. How do you leave those off? You can’t use the stove without them.
All that took us to Friday night when we left to drown our sorrows in chips and queso at Fuzzy’s.
When we got back, the smell almost knocked me over.
It was worse.
Saturday morning I woke up with both a headache (because I about knocked myself out on the counter top coming up from putting stuff away in the lower cabinets in the kitchen) and a burning throat.
I knew the smoke coming in was fresh. And it was coming in through the bathroom in our room.
We complained and basically left knowing it would be Monday before we heard from anyone.
Monday morning, Pumpkin and I were at the office 10 minutes before it opened.
Resolution? Yep, there’s smoke. So we get the joy of moving. Again.
And this time, I’m packing and then unpacking…again…all by myself.
Band camp has begun. I should see Chris sometime in November.
All this has not set well with me. I didn’t really realize this about myself but apparently, smoke coming in my apartment is my breaking point. Saturday night, Pumpkin coughed a couple of times and I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night. This is not okay with me.
I tell myself several times a day that really, this isn’t that bad. I mean it’s not like I had to take Pumpkin and walk three miles to the river and carry water back to the hut in a jug on my head. Or worry about a gun fight in the street. Or attend the funeral of someone who’s home was bombed.
But you know what? It’s not so much helping. Admitting that isn’t easy but it’s the truth.
Between packing, unpacking, work, Chris being gone, looking for houses, trying to find child care for Pumpkin so I can get more work done and pretty much feeling like I’ve moved to Siberia (with the fanciest Wal-Mart I have ever seen in my life), I am losing it.
I am sad and lonely and defeated. I am not sleeping at night but I could so fall asleep at 10:00 am every day. We’re surrounded by boxes and living out of suitcases for the third week in a row. I’m doing laundry and wondering why exactly since I’ll have to wash every single thing we own once we move apartments. There’s “stuff” everywhere and nowhere to put it. The walls and the stuff and the smell are suffocating me.
So if you see the maintenance guy, could you ask him to replace the light bulb in this dag-blasted tunnel? It's awfully dark in here.
So here’s the story. Last Friday was moving day. We knew it would be a long day. There was one truck being loaded for the storage facility. And a second truck was being loaded for the apartment. Two trucks, four men and six hours.
Chris got to the apartment with one truck while I stayed back at the house cleaning our way out the door. When he called to say they were done and headed to the storage facility, he mentioned that the apartment smelled.
Awesome.
They told us earlier in the week the carpet was being replaced. I was less than thrilled. New carpet has formaldehyde. Yep. The stuff used to preserve dead bodies. If you buy a new rug, it’s likely there too. It’s the “new” smell.
Go head. Let that sink in.
So I wasn’t necessarily surprised there was a smell. But I wasn’t expecting to be knocked over by a smell. And not new carpet.
Smoke.
Like a bar. In a college town. At 2:00 am.
Not that I would know or anything because I was home every night in college.
(Love you mom!)
We discussed it all afternoon while we unpacked. Surely the carpet installers must have been smoking. The place had been painted and there was new carpet. No way it should smell this bad after all that. It’ll go away soon.
In the meantime, we started making the list of all the stuff that needed to be fixed.
The closet door was off its track. I didn’t even know they made closet doors this heavy. It’s like lead.
The plumbing in the bathroom is leaking. Making the cabinets wet. Because wet wood is never a problem at all.
The sink doesn’t shut off. Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip. All. The. Time.
The bottom shelf in the fridge is cracked. So we can’t put a whole lot on that shelf. Reducing our shelf space by a third. Fabulous.
And oddly enough, the stove eyes were missing drip pans. Seriously. How do you leave those off? You can’t use the stove without them.
All that took us to Friday night when we left to drown our sorrows in chips and queso at Fuzzy’s.
When we got back, the smell almost knocked me over.
It was worse.
Saturday morning I woke up with both a headache (because I about knocked myself out on the counter top coming up from putting stuff away in the lower cabinets in the kitchen) and a burning throat.
I knew the smoke coming in was fresh. And it was coming in through the bathroom in our room.
We complained and basically left knowing it would be Monday before we heard from anyone.
Monday morning, Pumpkin and I were at the office 10 minutes before it opened.
Resolution? Yep, there’s smoke. So we get the joy of moving. Again.
And this time, I’m packing and then unpacking…again…all by myself.
Band camp has begun. I should see Chris sometime in November.
All this has not set well with me. I didn’t really realize this about myself but apparently, smoke coming in my apartment is my breaking point. Saturday night, Pumpkin coughed a couple of times and I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night. This is not okay with me.
I tell myself several times a day that really, this isn’t that bad. I mean it’s not like I had to take Pumpkin and walk three miles to the river and carry water back to the hut in a jug on my head. Or worry about a gun fight in the street. Or attend the funeral of someone who’s home was bombed.
But you know what? It’s not so much helping. Admitting that isn’t easy but it’s the truth.
Between packing, unpacking, work, Chris being gone, looking for houses, trying to find child care for Pumpkin so I can get more work done and pretty much feeling like I’ve moved to Siberia (with the fanciest Wal-Mart I have ever seen in my life), I am losing it.
I am sad and lonely and defeated. I am not sleeping at night but I could so fall asleep at 10:00 am every day. We’re surrounded by boxes and living out of suitcases for the third week in a row. I’m doing laundry and wondering why exactly since I’ll have to wash every single thing we own once we move apartments. There’s “stuff” everywhere and nowhere to put it. The walls and the stuff and the smell are suffocating me.
So if you see the maintenance guy, could you ask him to replace the light bulb in this dag-blasted tunnel? It's awfully dark in here.
I'm sooooo sorry! I wish I could be there. I do! I do! I do!
ReplyDeleteAll I can do is pray. I love you!
Mom
Ditto what Nana said. Praying for some peace and some solutions quick. Love you, Meme
ReplyDeleteAh yes, the glamorous lifesyles of the rich and famous. Built in cigeratte smoke that will keep you firmly placed with In Crowd. you know that that leave nice cofortable builiding to go outside in 20 degree or 110 degree weather to mantian tht hip smell. On top of that the stacks of boxes that you can't unpack because of the effiecinet use of living space. Those cute little appliances to help you keep on you low fat no taste diet. And those water saving tubs and showers that leak so well and keep you floors moist and wet thus allowing your mold and milder farm to prolifierate. Who would ever want to actually buy and house and give this all up.
ReplyDeleteI can only imagine the fun and frivolity tht you three ODC, Type A personaliites must have have while Nana was there.
Puddin