This might be the longest post I have ever written but I have had a weekend. Bear with me. Read it in stages.
The title of this post is not a metaphor. It is not secret code for something else. It is ACTUAL and TRUE. I HAVE A MUSHROOM GROWING OUT OF MY WALL.
I cannot even tell you what these past few days have been like. Saturday I spent most of my day cleaning and trying to straighten up the room that is SUPPOSED to be our extra room but has somehow turned into the computer room/craft room/Bree's closet/let's-put-all-our-crap-in-here-we-don't-have-a-place-for room. I was feeling all proud because I did get my little sewing area set up. It ain't fancy, but it's home.
I was wandering back through the dining room/living room when I noticed a weird thing on the wall under my kitchen table. I thought it was trash. I pull out the chair, drop to my hands and knees and low and behold. . .MUSHROOM. I just about blew a gasket. I was freaking out. I have had previous experience with mold and that ended me up in the hospital, plus I have asthma. Like I need weird crap floating around in the air making it harder for me to breathe.
Look at my pretty mushroom.I immediately began calling the office at our complex. They weren't there. Of course. Oh and the EMERGENCY pager number they have on the answering machine? Yea, that is an invalid number. Oh yes. So I proceeded to blow up the office telephone. I left them 3 messages. I then did what any self-respecting person would do. I started stomping around my complex looking for other residents to harass, I mean ask advice from. Go with me. I'm in my sweats from working out, my sports bra, the largest TIE DYE t-shirt I own, slippers and bun in my hair. Oh yes. I saw a 12 year old girl, yell at her from across the complex, make her go and ask her dad where the manager lives. That proceeds to bring out 3 other neighbors to whom of course I spill my tale of woe. Finally someone gives me the apartment number of the manager with strict instructions that I'm not to tell who gave it to me. So I stomp my unhappy butt up to HER door and bang on it. Lucky for her, she wasn't home. I left her one of those really specific notes where you underline the really important thing about 12,000 times. I'm so grown-up. I lost my mind people. She did call me late that night and left me a message that they would be at my apartment on Monday to take a look. Fantastic. Now I have to go into work late on the ONE day we have mandatory meetings.
Sunday I was just upset. Upset, upset. I was mad at the mold, I was mad at the complex, I was mad at my husband for not being mad enough. I was thinking about bills which always puts me over the edge. I was just plain pissed.
I don't have one of those easy-going personalities. I can't let things just slide off my back, down my back, whatever the heck that saying is. I stew. I fester. I worry. I stress. I think of things that haven't happened so I can worry about those. I have an issue. I know this. I'm working on it. Day at a time.
We went to dinner at my parents Sunday night and I bawled the whole ride over there. I bawled when I got there. I bawled later when my sister bawled. Ugh. I just wanted to sleep. I definitely didn't want to deal with my moldy mushroom and my boss who I knew was going to be none too happy about me not being at work.
So this morning I wake up and I'm feeling a little better but I'm worried about the work thing. So I call my boss again and it was like talking to a different person. This man is normally very easy going, extremely understanding and easy to work with. Today? Not so much. Basically he was like, "Make a choice Bree. Monday's are mandatory. If you're not here I'm marking it as an unpaid day off." So I told him that unfortunately my health was more important and that I guess I would take the day off (I had ever intention of working from home.). End of conversation. 20 minutes later I get a call from my one friend at work (a whole other story to tell someday). She thinks I'm playing some trick on her. Something about a strike? Huh? I have no idea what she is talking about so we start calling around and low and behold, we are on strike. Only nobody told us. Great. Did you know that you do not get paid during a strike? Did you know that they can hold your paycheck you ALREADY EARNED during a strike? Hello owner of my moldy apartment, I went on strike, can't pay my rent. Think they would go for that?
I finally get in touch with somebody and I'm told that I need to get down to the picket line! Right now! Sign in! Show my support! FABULOUS. One more thing to deal with. No wonder my boss was so cranky.
But there is a conclusion to this madness my 11 readers (I know I have that many because that's how many follow me.).
I currently have a hole in my wall. Apparently we have fixed the leaking pipe (oh and when the guy came to look at it I thought he was going to fall over and he pushed on the wall with his finger and it went RIGHT THROUGH), we have sprayed the mold with vinegar to kill it, we have placed a fan in front of the hole to dry all the crap out and I get a brand new foot of wall on Thursday.
And the strike? Ended tonight at 5. And I was told in no uncertain terms to be there bright and early tomorrow. Tuesday should be fun.