And this morning, like a troll leaving her dark place under the bridge, I opened my terrace door to SUNLIGHT and stepped out to survey the mess left in the wake of what has seemed to be a monsoon. It has been raining cords and blowing like a tempest for almost 6 days. This is not normal here in the south and the weather has taken it's toll on everyone.
Six days ago I put my laundry out to dry. Bad idea. Two hours later "the weather" started and I just left everything there. It was all wetter and heavier than when it came out of the washer and I had no place to put it without it growing mold. So on the terrace it stayed. Sort of. Today, during our brief respite, I pulled my leopard-print shirt off the roof, disentangled my towel from the oleander plant, and dug out 2 pair of underwear that were embedded in plant soil. I can see another pair on the roof below but I just can't get to them and several socks are just...gone. On the other hand I gained a plant and a bucket that blew in from somewhere.
On top of that, for the second time in 2 weeks, the roof leaked into my closet, leaving my clothes soaked, smelly and stained. The water has been dripping past the big, old beams in my apartment leaving the stain of centuries and the smell of...I don't know....great-great grandma's house that hasn't had the windows open in 22 years....after she died. That sort of smell. So now I've got clothes, sheets, and towels hanging from every available space inside, with the heat on trying to get it all dry. It feels like a dry cleaners in here with all the heat and humidity and the windows are starting to fog.
My landlord says I should call the insurance company and file a claim. Oh for god's sakes, right now I'm dealing with the state insurance agency and one French agency requiring every single paper I have plus my agreement for the 459th time that I WILL NOT WORK IN FRANCE is enough for one week! I'll take the hit.
The weather forecast says we're going to get more tomorrow. At least I didn't have to be rescued by firefighters or lose almost everything I own as many have in the past few days. But I'm still crabby. And still in my bathrobe because it's the only thing that's dry.
Obviously, the mold is growing in the section of my brain that generally produces good humor. And so I'd better stop. If you don't hear from me again, please send help. I'll be the brown, wrinkled prune, shriveled up inside a fluffy white bathrobe, floating in a blue bucket, in a flooded apartment in Aix en Provence.
Cheers... so to speak!