I've been saying for quite awhile now that I needed to get into my Magic Room and do a serious de-cluttering/rearranging. Saying it again and again, but doing SFA about it. But lo! The universe heard me, and provided me with a stellar opportunity.
Friday afternoon, as per his weekly ritual, the landlord's son washed his fancy-pants sportscar. Tossed the hose back into its usual spot, just outside our kitchen window (of a basement suite, remember) and forgot to turn off the water. Sometime between late afternoon and 3:00 AM, the spray nozzle blew off the hose. Sometime after 8:00 AM on Saturday, I went outside to investigate the running water sound.
Sure enough, there was a puddle deep enough to drown a fish all along the wall of the house. Exasperated, we checked the laundry room, where we've had drainage issues before. And, sure enough, the floor was wet. But no major pools of water, like last time, so we informed the landlord that all looked well, no need to worry.
Sunday afternoon, I went into my Magic Room for the first time all weekend. I saw a piece of paper on the floor - chords for a song I was trying to learn, the cats must have knocked it off the desk. I went to pick it up...soaked through. As was the carpet, most of the way back to the wall. Grrr!
Landlord came down, we hauled stuff away from the wet area (I typed "wet spot" first, but you know, my parents read this. And I'm too tired to be witty, anyway.) Much of it went into the living room...grrr again! The carpet was pulled back, and a space heater put on full blast.
Fast forward two days. After work today, I go into the room to get some stuff, and WHEW! Very, very stinky. Mr.Q fetches the landlord, and he agrees: very, very stinky. Must be replaced ASAP. (Also, the futon mattress we had folded up on the floor: Soaked through the bottom. Bye bye futon!)
Of course, Mr.Q has a gig tonight. So yours truly gets to pack up and empty the room all by her lonesome. The landlord was great - ran to the liquor store for boxes, and when I'd packed 'em up and out of the room, he insisted that he move them all out to the garage. I'm not sure whether he was motivated by guilt, or helpfulness, or an old-world notion that women shouldn't do heavy lifting. Possibly all three. I'm not arguing with any of it; it saved me a tweaky back!
We ordered pizza so Mr.Q would have time to help me with some of it (And he did. Have I mentioned that he rocks, and not just literally?) I ordered Coke, too. Sometimes you just have to live on the edge. When supper came, I thought: I wish I had some rum to go with that Coke. But I finished off the last of the Christmas mickey when I had a cold awhile ago. Still, I went to the cupboard to gaze wistfully at the lack of rum - sort of like you do when you open the freezer, and hope that chocolate ice cream or something has mysteriously materialized. It never does, but you can't help looking anyway.
Well, let me tell you, sometimes the universe listens, and provides! Sure enough, there was most of a bottle of rum in the cupboard. I have no idea where it came from, and I don't care. I don't even really like rum & Coke, but sometimes I needs it.
I'm feeling much better now. Even though it's past my bedtime, and I still have to fold a mountain of laundry before I can get into bed (seeing as it's piled on the bed) and do some dishes. (The dishes aren't on the bed. But if I want coffee in the morning, I have to wash the Bodum and some mugs. A desperate situation, that!) And I might have to have just one more wee drop before I hit the hay.
(Going totally off-track, I had a friend in college whose room-mate was terrible about washing dishes. So my friend, after several reminders, would pile the dirty dishes in the middle of the room-mate's bed. I don't know how effective it was, but I found the notion entertaining!)