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07:27 am: ex post facto flood update
I didn't realize this entry has been sitting in my email (I think because I posted it on my work blog and always intended to put it here as well? maybe?) for erm... 6 1/2 months. Oops.

<first world problems>
It's Week 5 of living in Dante's first circle a hotel, week 7 of not living at home.
I miiiiiisssss hooooooome.
Demolition is almost complete in our personal flood zone, AKA first floor (why is there a pipe to nowhere in our kitchen wall?). The old furnace is out. Progress!
The new furnace is not yet in. There is no water. All the electrical work needs to be replaced (something about not being able to test BX). Also no kitchen or dining room, and a plastic- and dust-covered living room. Did I mention no water? So no drinking, bathing, washing up, or flushing of toilets. Thus, Dante's first circle the hotel.
The first set of kitchen plans was horrific; the half-wall into the dining room was more like a drive-through window. The second set was... actually quite close to what we want. Progress! The inventory was very painful, but is theoretically complete. More progress!
The reconstruction folks have not yet sourced (and consequently priced) the custom wooden archways. We do not yet have our assessment.
Stupid complaints that I'm well aware are trivial but am making them anyway*:

  • Balancing bringing All Teh Things to the hotel and doing without All Teh Things

  • Realizing that no matter what Thing I may need, it will be Teh Thing I decided to leave at home

  • Dealing with a very limited wardrobe (how can I tell, you ask? I can't find the black trousers I feel like wearing right now -- only the other ones! the wrong ones!)

  • Setting off the smoke detector when I cook in "our" kitchen - when there is no smoke. No. Smoke.

  • Getting a rash from the hotel lotion

  • Trying to take a relaxing bath in a tub that's 12" deep (f'rreelz) and doesn't have a sloped end, so I end up all crooked and not warm and most decidedly not relaxed

  • Packing 3 introverts into 680 square feet of living space

  • Dealing with adjusters, contractors, agents, and workmen with the unmitigated gall to have other customers and not answer my emails and calls (and questions) immediately

  • Eating the same free breakfast every day

  • Living on takeout, pasta, and cereal

Less stupid complaints:

  • Trying to help my wonderful son deal with the trauma - seeing him suffer and not being able to take away the source of that suffering is horrible

  • Replacing everything in my husband's wallet (definitely lost, probably stolen from the hotel)

  • Living with the uncertainty of when we'll be able to go home and what it'll be when we get there

  • Doing that incredibly painful inventory - how do I value my son's baby book, with all his milestones? the first-edition book my Grammy (dead 30 years) got for perfect attendance in Sunday School in around 1912? the newspaper I'd saved from the day my son was born? all the poetry I bought when I was at Oxford? my high school and college yearbooks, with signatures from friends who've died? the CDs and DVDs that may be fine (I haven't seen them), but whose packaging is completely destroyed? the furniture I inherited from the aunt for whom I'm named?

Somewhere between stupid and less stupid is not being able to relax, completely let down my guard, and have my own little breakdown.
Marching on. And complaining. But you knew that.
</first world problems>

So it's now been more than 8 months since our home has been, y'know, home, but we're very near the end. We have an actual punch list! A punch list the construction company was allegedly addressing today! ONLY THEY'RE NOT. They'll theoretically come tomorrow or Friday.

We'll see.
* See Viktor Frankl: "Suffering is like a gas: it expands to fit the available space."

Current Location: home. ish.
Current Mood: okayokay
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