Thursday, July 05, 2007

Anecdotes of a Bereaved Flood Victim


My Grandma Dolli said that bad things always happen in sets of three.
Grandma's theory always worked. As pessimistic human beings searching for all the wrongs that have been done to us, it is easy to find two companions for every minor tragedy that marches in our direction. But early this morning I learned that every once in a while a real catastrophe occurs-- one that would be dimmed in comparison to any other problem, and whose terribleness cannot be classified in any category. My ability to complain over minor incidents has been demolished along with my bedroom ceiling; it is resting peacefully somewhere in a sea of broken drywall and scattered insulation.

I did not notice the watermark. It was a thin gray line, sneakily curved and just long enough to be mistaken for the shadow of the lavender that wrapped around the canopy of my bed. For days it had been growing, amassing and accumulating dirty water above my ceiling until it severed a tiny hole above my sleeping place. I was awakened early in the morning by the gentle drip, drip, drip of the hideous water as it fell from that tiny hole and onto my pillow. I sleepily squinted at the dark spot above, trying to register what exactly was happening. I grabbed a teacup from my nightstand and let it catch the drip.
The water was definitely yellow.
By the time I arrived back in my room with my mother and a more adequate container to catch the flow, the hole had stretched into an enormous and immensely ugly gash, now streaming water and bulging with more liquid. I froze, eyeing my room-- my beautiful room with the gently twisting wrought iron bed, the fluffy white down comforter, plants, flowers, perfume... the silver picture frames with yellow water dripping down their fronts--and began to cry.
We salvaged as much as we could before the ceiling broke. The black lines were spreading and impregnating themselves with water, and at last they split with a mighty crack. Wetness and gray insulation piled itself on top of my mattress, my carpet, and my little, curly, white nightstand and chair ensemble I had so lovingly developed. I stood in the middle of the floor and gazed forlornly into my attic through a four-foot long hole in my ceiling.
I sat down on several inches of dirty, gray fluff and cried.

And so I will spend the rest of today shoveling insulation and plaster into garbage bags. I will vacuum up what remains, let the plumber fix the leak, and sleep in the room across the hall until the hole in my ceiling is repaired. The gaping fissure doesn't rip at my heart as much as it initially did. I've safely moved my things away from the water, and draped the too heavy furniture with plastic for protection against further damage. All is well, and the fact that I have not been rendered unconscious by a falling piece of drywall makes me grateful indeed.

Bad things irrevocably come in threes. For every little snag I find, I will easily be able to summon two more with my pessimistic imagination.
But catastrophes need no exaggeration. They unalterably come in their full glory and terror-- completely and utterly alone.

12 comments:

Nedge said...

I'm so sorry!
But...that is an interesting story! I'm glad you didn't get buried prematurely under a wall of rubble.

Brittany said...

Yay for early morning phone calls, eh?

Original Kos said...

Wahhh! Our room! Times has taken its toll on our old home. I hope the ceiling mends soon.

Nedge said...

Wow...I like that word! Rubble. Rubbish. Rubble.

"Our exciting new flavor of Salmonilla is titled 'Rubble!' It's messy and so delish! Your very own rubble-flavored fish!

It's naturally very low in cholestrol!"


Warning: Taking this product can cause side effects including but not limited to: drowsiness, side aches, head aches, ear aches, burst taste buds, rotting teeth, no friends, pungent smells, loss of math skills, and the inability to use a stapler.

'Rubble! Salmonilla has changed my life! Now all I can taste whenever I eat is the delish flavor of rubble! I can eat anything and taste rubble! It's exciting and new, and you should try it too!'
-Anne S.

Brenda said...

I'm so sorry to hear about your room Joslynn. I too am grateful that you were awake when this occured. Your Grandma sounds like a very smart woman.
I hope that you were able to salvage all your belongings.

Bethany said...

Keenan's sister here...Koseli told me to read your blog! I really like it. You Christensens really have a knack for writing. I linked your blog to mine...I hope that's ok. Mine is bdotlog.wordpress.com. Enjoy!

Sasha Mari said...

Oh sweet joslynn. While i am nestled in my cozy and central air conditioned home, eating freshly dipped chocolate strawberries and reading yet again Harry Potter (if you haven't read it, it will change your life)- my heart goes out to you and a couple of magic comfort spells. That room- i always believed to be the Romeo and Juliet of all rooms.. with its romantic balcony and its ability to alter moods and nourish giant plants with just basking in the sunlight... many of sounds have been on repeat there, many dreams have played through minds and journals been written in. If anything we should have a moment of silence for the room that puts romance in the Christensen Home. Because she is beautiful and has housed many great minds and lots of fabulous outfits. Love you Jos. Sasha The First Room Keeper

Joslynn said...

Britt: I owe you my life. You have my permission to hang that over my head until the end of our days, okay?

Nedge: All those side effects would explain my lack of teeth and the two little holes in my thumb. Don't worry though; it was worth it. Nothing beats the dusty taste of rubble-flavored Salmonella.

Kos and Sash: We three girls hold in our hearts the beauty that was once the upstairs balcony room. Until she is properly mended, we must comfort ourselves with the vision of her majestic decor and the ingenious personal touches which added so much to her loveliness.

Beth: I love your blog!

Brenda: Indeed, my grandma was a wise woman. I can see you wagging a wrinkled old finger and telling your fifteen grandchildren similar things yourself.

Unknown said...

Jossay! that is horrible. you're room, of all rooms, to be destroyed....it wouldn't be nearly as bad if it had been my room. it has no personality :-)

Brenda said...

Does anyone else remember that we were going to act out Romeo and Juliet off of that balcony. Those were some good times. We were crazy!

Brenda said...

I like the new look!

Cecily said...

Oh dear...I remember this, and it brings the awful memory of my flooded room to memory. Three times in one year...a breakdown can be expected. I wasn't as lucky as you though. I was left with scars from the ants that were eating me alive while I slept on the floor for a month. I was eventually blessed with the idea to sleep on the couch after that experience.