Say, did I ever tell you that Ian is spending the summer in Germany? Or that I recklessly blew a considerable percentage of my net worth to spend three weeks visiting him there? And that I just got home last night, only to find that my bedroom was flooded and growing mold?
Well, it’s all true. After twenty hours/five thousand miles of travel, I was in no shape to deal with disaster. I sobbed brokenly for thirty seconds, found a dry, mold-free blanket in the linen cupboard, and belly-flopped onto our living room futon in groggy despair. You’ve got your troubles, I’ve got mine.
If you’re hankering to see gray mold and sloshy carpets, I posted pictures of the damages here.
A five-person professional cleaning crew has been on the job; the carpets have been torn out, and the wet end of the house is now crammed with nineteen or twenty fans and dehumidifiers.
I’m running on four hours of sleep and starting to fade. But you know what? Dealing with a huge, stinking mess isn’t a bad way to overcome jet lag. Nothing less could have kept me awake.