Dear J,

Water is raining from our ceiling in the den. Also in our master bathroom. The property manager has been alerted, the people upstairs know (and are suffering more than us, I think) so all I think to do is sit and listen to the drips and hope the plumber gets here soon.

P wanted to get a condo a long while ago. I resisted; I didn’t want him to be the sole bread winner when we were condo hunting, I was afraid going through the mortgage process would be traumatic, and I always enjoyed (when things went sideways in our rented apartments) calling up the landlord and letting them deal with the hassle. I have to laugh, today, or I’d be crying; everything I feared about the home buying process has happened.

The lovely navy paint on the living room walls is puffed out, distorted with bulges full of the same yellow water that’s streaming through the ceiling fan in the master bath. All of our towels are soaked, all our back-up sheets drenched. I’m catching water in buckets and pans. I had to exile P to his office; I am somehow able to laugh, if a bit ruefully, but he is not quite there yet.

Hey! I hear the plumber’s voice, frantic footsteps upstairs, doors slamming. Is the crisis moving on to a new phase?

Next up, in the facing fears department: figuring out who’s going to pay for repairs, our insurance or the guys upstairs.

First, though, looks like I’ve got some cleaning up to do.

Love!

C/