Febru-Eris: The alarm clock goes off.

Hello. Been a little minute, hasn’t it? Sorry about that. We’ve been a tad busy.

A lot of the busy-ness began, oddly enough, while we were taking a shower. Mogwai, sitting on the couch in the living room one floor below the shower, thought she heard some water running directly above her head. And that is odd. It isnot supposed to do that. Mogwai stood up and touched the ceiling… and her finger went through it.

Normally, this indicates a problem.

The thing that immediately began to bother Cootie and I was the prospect of mold. We’ve had issues with that here before. We found mold in the kitchen cabinets soon after moving in. It had been there a while because the wood was warped. Evidence, we believed, of a constant incessant leak. We called the maintenance guys who came in and promptly slapped a coat of Kilz on it. Don’t replace the wood, don’t check behind it, just treat the symptom. Fantastic.

We should have expected that kind of thorough expert handy-man experience; when we reported the refrigerator not cooling properly, the maintenance guys replaced the light bulb.

Mold, in a household environment, is not a good thing. That fucking primordial ooze can destroy a house, make it unlivable, not to mention the health problems it can cause when you’ve been breathing it for a year.

If I had to guess, I would say that mold is the main reason that I got diagnosed with asthma last week. Now to be fair, I do smoke (and that is not your invitation to judge me; it is simply a fact), but I smoke two packs a week. Not a day. Also, to be fair, I am overweight. Again, keep your mouth shut about that. I have had an interesting last three years and the weight gain has been more emotionally-based than anything else. I acknowledge it as a fact and something that can be dealt with.

The result right now is this: four daily breathing treatments. It’s inconvenient but I can’t say I’m upset about it because they do help.

We’ll come back to all this. Maybe not today, but we will come back to it.

I pitched a major fit on the apartment office’s voicemail, telling them what had happened and how something absolutely had to be done about this. I raged about the mold and my family’s safety and the goddamned hole in the ceiling.

When the office called me back, they said they had the impression that all I really wanted was for the hole in the ceiling to be patched, as if I had never mentioned the mold at all. No, I explained, this has to have happened because of a long-standing leak. I reminded them of their incredible service record and that something more serious needed to be done.

The manager told me that maintenance was in possession of –and I’m quoting– a “camera on a stick.” And they could take the camera on a stick and poke it up through that hole and take a look around. I was told this wold be done.

Mogwai was home when the maintenance guys showed up. They had no “camera on a stick.” They patched the hole without any further investigation.

So… we’re moving. We did not want to do that. We like the place, we like the environment, we like the amenities. We just aren’t fond of the life-threatening conditions and the lackadaisical attitude of those who work here to remedy said conditions.

We have a month.

So I’m calling this new month “Febru-Eris.” It’s been a long time since the old girl showed up, but she has waltzed back into our lives with a loving vengeance.

So… start saving boxes. We’re checking out leads and trying to decide how we can arrange things to make our lives work as easily and efficiently as possible.

And there is more to tell you… but that will come soon enough.