Damp and Stinky

I am temporarily out of sorts, because the condensate drain from our upstairs air conditioning backed up (see, I knew I was right not to turn it on!), water overflowed the so-called overflow pan, then leaked throughout the house, wreaking havoc on my computer room's ceiling and our downstairs. The smell is so offensive that I can't go near my desk, so I’m attempting to write in my hot and sticky kitchen.

The putrid smell is probably coming from the special stain repellant paint that was used to cover up last year's air conditioning leak, which I was promised, after our new system was installed, would never happen again. I was told the new system would shut off automatically if a drainage problem should ever occur again. Ha. Not true. According to the man who just left, that switch was inadvertently left off the new installation.

So, not only is the ceiling ruined upstairs, but so is the downstairs archway to the dining room, where paint has now buckled so thoroughly that it is falling off in sheets. The old, old irreplaceable wallpaper (which I loved) is now stained brown along edges abutting trim.  I am waiting for the carpenter ants to send out their signal so they can snake their way through the wet wood and gallop through the house. I know that’s what is coming next.

When I first woke up, drenched and stuck to the sheets because of the intense humidity coursing through our bedroom’s now-opened windows (I could hear crickets, though, which is one positive in this negative), I went from remembering the dream I’d just had (I was being bitten all over my arms and legs by fleas), to remembering the water damage. I cursed myself for getting used to feeling comfortably cool, because I should know by know that when I let down my guard and feel comfortable or positive, disaster happens.

The air conditioning guy took pictures, but I wanted him to wave a magic wand and make the damage disappear; instead I had to settle for listening to him groan with dismay as he saw what his installer had caused to happen. The best part of the morning, so far, was when he asked me if I'd mind staying home all day, in my now-humid stinkhole, to await his repairman. Of course I mind – but I have no choice. I want it to be cold again.

I know this is a small blip on the disaster scale, and I'm not claiming to be devastated (like Central Park and its trees). But I am distressed, disappointed and damp. Rather than bewitched, bothered, and bewildered, which would be much more fun.