As I sit here at my desk laughing, my colleague, Dustin, hollers over the cubes, “Are you laughing or crying?”
“Not quite sure, yet,” I reply.
We just found out that we won’t be able to move in to Matilda on Aug. 10 as planned. (I know, I know… never plan on anything in construction.) The critical work, which will involve city inspectors crawling all over our newly installed plumbing and electrical, will all be happening just we are scheduled move in, so we’re a no-go.
We always knew Matilda was going to be rough when we moved in; we were prepared for that. But there is still a difference between “rough” and “roof is being installed over your head as you brush your teeth” rough. Plus, there’s no point in getting in the way of the contractors, forcing them to trip over boxes and dogs and pianos while they’re still trying to run wires and install pipes.
Our contractor is working his butt off and doing amazing work. I have no complaints on that front; things just take time. And we knew we were pushing the timeline.
So in two weeks we are going to be homeless, while pouring every dollar we have into a home we can’t live in.
That means we have to find a temporary place to sublet, for like a month, that will take two humans and 16 paws worth of critter. Meanwhile, all of our worldly belongings — including one grand piano — have to be moved into storage and then moved again, later, to Detroit. These are not things our very-tight renovation budget accounted for. Good thing Karl got a job! (Did I mention that Karl got a job? Woohoo! Congrats, Lovey!)
On top of all of this, our contractor is recommending that Karl — and maybe one of the dogs — still sleep in the house … to protect it from scrappers.
You see why I’m laughing, right?
Oh, p.s.: We just got our new Detroit-addressed driver’s licenses today.