Post by MHall on Jan 18, 2005 13:22:37 GMT -5
Here is my "33" experience. This is a true story of my last few days.
"6:30"
- - -
A noise laps at the edge of my consciousness. "What is it?", I wonder. "Oh yes, this sound is called 'doorbell.'" In darkness, cold and confused, I look at the digital clock. 6:30. In the morning. I think. This time they said they would come at 6:00, so I guess I should be grateful. Yesterday they said they would come at 7:00, but they came early, also at 6:30. That wasn't nice for me, because my work time is in the evening and night, so I only got a couple of hours sleep each of the last two nights. Excuse me, that's the doorbell again. I throw on whatever clothes I can find by touch. A zombie staggers to the door.
I open the door to a flood of workmen, who quickly fill every room and space in my apartment. 7? 10? I am too busy trying to get out of their way to count them. They are inhumanly active for this hour and have been hired to make my life hell for three days. My landlord has paid to replace all the windows in my apartment. I guess I should be grateful, but right now I just want my old windows, if that means I can have my sanity back too.
I have been to hell, and it is here. Hell is not hot. Hell is cold. Hell is being woken up after two hours of sleep, having your windows taken away in a cold land near Outer Mongolia known as "Slovenia," enduring cold that a heavy coat makes only survivable, and being covered in dust, while loud noises slice at the remaining strands of your sanity. And not just one day, but now two, with a third to come.
You might be wondering why I don't just leave. Well, I tried, yesterday. I found a nice quiet spot in a cafe, closed my eyes, and then my cell phone rang. My landlord asked where I was. He wanted me to be there in the apartment while the workmen are. Just what of HIS property the workmen might steal, I don't know. Might they pass up my projector and steal his old heavy wardrobe? Might they take a sink faucet knob? They could take the windows, yes, but they are supposed to. There just isn't much that he owns here that is movable. But, with my being American and my landlord speaking only a Russian-like language that makes Japanese seem easy, I wasn't able to verbalize an argument. I only understood that my landlord commanded me to return at once... to stand guard at the gates of hell!
So for the second day in a row, I sit here, cold, dusty, and sleep-deprived, with my only music being that of the power drills. I have only one tiny consolation... my laptop computer and Internet access. I don't have enough cognitive skills left to do much. But I can visit the Battlestar Galactica 2004 forums, read the posts, and post sleep-deprived drivel!
So that's what I do until evening comes. Then the workmen go, I clean a "bit" (including every glass, mug, and teacup I own, all the floors, every flat surface), and I work. I finally crash to bed at 4:00 in the morning.
* * *
There is a loud noise. Though drunk with sleepiness, I still know the proper answer and how to phrase it, "What is a doorbell." "Correct for $100!" I look at the clock. 6:30. They said they would come at 7:00 today. I wonder, "Why do the workmen always come at 6:30? Why isn't it 6:34 or 7:35 or even a civilized 9:00?" Another voice in my head snaps, "Shut up!" After less than six hours of sleep in 3 days, I am in no mood to take any nonsense from anyone, least of all myself. Regrouping, I say to myself, "I'll take 'Things That Go Bump In The Night' for $200." The doorbell rings again. "This person is ringing your doorbell at 6:30 in the morning." It is an easy one. I reply with an inflectionless question, "Who is a workman." As I struggle into my uncooperative clothes, I console myself that at least I will be warm today, since the windows have all been replaced and the walls just need finishing. I open the door, and my landlord dashes in. Nooo! While I am trying to figure out why my landlord is even here, he turns off the heat and starts disconnecting the radiators. What the frack? Heat. Who needs heat?
The workmen arrive a half an hour later, on schedule today, and despite my hopes, all the cleaning I did yesterday evening is soon for naught. Dust from pulverized walls again covers everything, including myself. A hot shower would make me feel so much better, but by turning off the radiators, the landlord has turned off the hot water too. In my dusty cold hell, I look at the pictures coming in from Titan on the Internet. It's colder there, that's true, but it looks relatively appealing... not so much dust. My sleep-deprived mind starts coming up with ideas for Battlestar Galactica. I post them. "Water as a defense against nukes," "Everyone is a cylon," and so on, but I'm getting slower. Finally, the workmen are done, but the landlord stays on a few hours to finish his maintenance. In the late afternoon, as I lay clothed on my bed, blackness comes and takes me away, "maybe this time..."
* * *
THE DOORBELL RINGS. Heart pounding, I sit up wide-eyed and look at the clock. 6:30. I cry to myself, "It's the workmen. Damn it!" Yesterday was supposed to be the last. I console myself, "If not this day, maybe the next." Before I can struggle to my feet, my landlord speaks in a muffled voice from outside, saying "bye bye," which is almost all the English he knows. It is 6:30 in the evening, and my landlord merely wants me to know he has just left. No workmen. No landlord. Just me.
The radiator creaks in protest of the hot water now surging through it. In the relative warmth, I go to bed. Work? What work could I possibly do now? In the next instant, the blackness comes for me again.
- - -
Now, having finally gotten one good night of sleep, I can reread my posts of the last few days and have a good laugh.
"6:30"
- - -
A noise laps at the edge of my consciousness. "What is it?", I wonder. "Oh yes, this sound is called 'doorbell.'" In darkness, cold and confused, I look at the digital clock. 6:30. In the morning. I think. This time they said they would come at 6:00, so I guess I should be grateful. Yesterday they said they would come at 7:00, but they came early, also at 6:30. That wasn't nice for me, because my work time is in the evening and night, so I only got a couple of hours sleep each of the last two nights. Excuse me, that's the doorbell again. I throw on whatever clothes I can find by touch. A zombie staggers to the door.
I open the door to a flood of workmen, who quickly fill every room and space in my apartment. 7? 10? I am too busy trying to get out of their way to count them. They are inhumanly active for this hour and have been hired to make my life hell for three days. My landlord has paid to replace all the windows in my apartment. I guess I should be grateful, but right now I just want my old windows, if that means I can have my sanity back too.
I have been to hell, and it is here. Hell is not hot. Hell is cold. Hell is being woken up after two hours of sleep, having your windows taken away in a cold land near Outer Mongolia known as "Slovenia," enduring cold that a heavy coat makes only survivable, and being covered in dust, while loud noises slice at the remaining strands of your sanity. And not just one day, but now two, with a third to come.
You might be wondering why I don't just leave. Well, I tried, yesterday. I found a nice quiet spot in a cafe, closed my eyes, and then my cell phone rang. My landlord asked where I was. He wanted me to be there in the apartment while the workmen are. Just what of HIS property the workmen might steal, I don't know. Might they pass up my projector and steal his old heavy wardrobe? Might they take a sink faucet knob? They could take the windows, yes, but they are supposed to. There just isn't much that he owns here that is movable. But, with my being American and my landlord speaking only a Russian-like language that makes Japanese seem easy, I wasn't able to verbalize an argument. I only understood that my landlord commanded me to return at once... to stand guard at the gates of hell!
So for the second day in a row, I sit here, cold, dusty, and sleep-deprived, with my only music being that of the power drills. I have only one tiny consolation... my laptop computer and Internet access. I don't have enough cognitive skills left to do much. But I can visit the Battlestar Galactica 2004 forums, read the posts, and post sleep-deprived drivel!
So that's what I do until evening comes. Then the workmen go, I clean a "bit" (including every glass, mug, and teacup I own, all the floors, every flat surface), and I work. I finally crash to bed at 4:00 in the morning.
* * *
There is a loud noise. Though drunk with sleepiness, I still know the proper answer and how to phrase it, "What is a doorbell." "Correct for $100!" I look at the clock. 6:30. They said they would come at 7:00 today. I wonder, "Why do the workmen always come at 6:30? Why isn't it 6:34 or 7:35 or even a civilized 9:00?" Another voice in my head snaps, "Shut up!" After less than six hours of sleep in 3 days, I am in no mood to take any nonsense from anyone, least of all myself. Regrouping, I say to myself, "I'll take 'Things That Go Bump In The Night' for $200." The doorbell rings again. "This person is ringing your doorbell at 6:30 in the morning." It is an easy one. I reply with an inflectionless question, "Who is a workman." As I struggle into my uncooperative clothes, I console myself that at least I will be warm today, since the windows have all been replaced and the walls just need finishing. I open the door, and my landlord dashes in. Nooo! While I am trying to figure out why my landlord is even here, he turns off the heat and starts disconnecting the radiators. What the frack? Heat. Who needs heat?
The workmen arrive a half an hour later, on schedule today, and despite my hopes, all the cleaning I did yesterday evening is soon for naught. Dust from pulverized walls again covers everything, including myself. A hot shower would make me feel so much better, but by turning off the radiators, the landlord has turned off the hot water too. In my dusty cold hell, I look at the pictures coming in from Titan on the Internet. It's colder there, that's true, but it looks relatively appealing... not so much dust. My sleep-deprived mind starts coming up with ideas for Battlestar Galactica. I post them. "Water as a defense against nukes," "Everyone is a cylon," and so on, but I'm getting slower. Finally, the workmen are done, but the landlord stays on a few hours to finish his maintenance. In the late afternoon, as I lay clothed on my bed, blackness comes and takes me away, "maybe this time..."
* * *
THE DOORBELL RINGS. Heart pounding, I sit up wide-eyed and look at the clock. 6:30. I cry to myself, "It's the workmen. Damn it!" Yesterday was supposed to be the last. I console myself, "If not this day, maybe the next." Before I can struggle to my feet, my landlord speaks in a muffled voice from outside, saying "bye bye," which is almost all the English he knows. It is 6:30 in the evening, and my landlord merely wants me to know he has just left. No workmen. No landlord. Just me.
The radiator creaks in protest of the hot water now surging through it. In the relative warmth, I go to bed. Work? What work could I possibly do now? In the next instant, the blackness comes for me again.
- - -
Now, having finally gotten one good night of sleep, I can reread my posts of the last few days and have a good laugh.
. Hang in there, buddy...
what's that, for the priveleged, of course
