Seven

It was 7 degrees here in NYC, folks. Yesterday morning, as I was attempting to down a quick cup of caffeinated sludge (one part coffee grounds-one part boiling water, press) I saw my next door neighbor through my window, suited up and ready for her run. Kudos to her. I don't know if she's ocd about it or just impervious to pain, but the only way I can tolerate this weather is bundling up with four thermal shirts, a fleece vest, a hoodie, and my Eddie Bauer weather-be-damned jacket, two pairs of gloves, scarf, hat and both hoods up over my head-- all over three pairs of thermal underwear and my trekking pants. Yes I do stay warm, but there ain't no way I'm moving quicker than a fast shamble in this outfit.

Of COURSE I run into my ex (not Ex, who lives across the hall, but "my ex" who lives down the block from me) when I look like the Abominable Snowman who took a fashion course at FIT and now dresses in all black, and all exposed flesh an unflattering shade of pink. Ain't that always the way? She, of course, looked chipper and at ease, like it was any spring day, temps in the upper fifties.
A genuine park slope moment, we bantered about the relative merits of Trader Joes vs. Whole Foods vs. Fairway, talked renovation talk and discussed our dogs' feeling about the weather.

Today it's a comparably balmy 27, and after spending all day yesterday organizing the Pile of Crap in the apartment undergoing renovations into three separate piles-- Definitely Keep, Maybe, and Sidewalk Now-- I am going back today to do more of the same. The sheetrock dust has permeated my lungs. I could not shower it all out of my hair, and my eyes were caked with crud this morning when I woke up.



This renovation has GOT to end. Gf and I have both reached the point of being OVER it. The contractor called Friday to say that he was missing 5 overhead lights, to the tune of $100 a piece. I called the lighting store, they gave me a tracking number, I called UPS, yes-- the boxes were delivered and signed. So here's where it gets tetchy: The contractor is gf's sister's husband's sister's husband-- kinda like a brother in law once or twice removed. But gf's family is quite small, thanks to some horrendous genocides and oppressive regimes in the past, so what family there is sticks close together. He's at all the special occasions and is genuinely a lovely guy (if a bit of a Neanderthal, as gf's sister calls him) but I don't wanna buy 5 more lights for $100 a piece when they were clearly once there and now are not. I don't know what happened-- one of his guys lifted them? They were accidentally junked along with construction debris? -- the point is, we paid for them once and I don't want to have to pay for them again.

Of course, I also don't want to get us disinvited from Seder over some lights. You know what they say about mixing family and business... This is just one of the seemingly endless annoying details that we are dealing with on a daily basis.

Just when gf and I are reaching our limit with this renovation, the progress seems to have flagged substantially. Gf called yesterday from work while I was culling from the Pile (Broken end table- sidewalk; headshots of ex-roommate- trash; shrunken sweater- sidewalk...)

"Did they do anything?"
"I think they moved some buckets downstairs."
"Buckets?"
"Yeah, I don't remember seeing them there last week."
"What about the faucets?"
"Not in."
"The tile?"

"Nope."
"Doors?"
"No."
"Spackle?"
"Uh-uh."
"Lights?"
"Missing."
"Buckets?"
"Buckets."

I want to have our kitchen in and the couch that we bought and the fabulous retro modern chair and the bed put together (a storage bed!) I want to brush my teeth side-by-side with gf at our individual faucets over our trough sink without her elbowing me out of the way to spit on my hands and I try to rinse my toothbrush.

So as we live between two places, our lives have taken on an aspect of suspended animation. My apartment is filling up with boxes and crap rescued from her place to save it from the violence of renovation; I have a bed bought during a limited-offer sale, in boxes taking up half the living room. The daily maintenance of life becomes a bit harder when navigating so many obstacles in a small space. Laundry-- can't be bothered. Floors? They're just gonna get gross again. I'm usually a much bigger neat freak, but there's only so much I can be neat about right now. Gf uses the dining room table as office space, the shoes have overflowed their allotted space in the closet and colonized the floor adjacent to it. The books half-heartedly culled from the bookcase lie on the floor as it is too wet and cold to put them on the sidewalk...

Everything seems to hinge on finishing this reno: THEN I can sell my place, THEN we can refinance, THEN we can start saving money, THEN we can start having our lives back, THEN we start trying to have a baby...


I am over it, man. OVER it. Above: 1. Our someday-gonna-be 1/2 bath; 2. The Giant Pile in our someday-soon-we-hope living room; 3. Our in-this-g*dd^mn-lifetime-please bedroom.