We have had this apartment house since 1977 and for several years in the middle i had a smaller one with my ex-husband, and at various times i have cleaned houses and worked with the elderly and so forth…but now ‘I’ am the old lady who has been in her apartment for twenty years and the place shows it.
No matter how much i clean and what i clean, the apartment has had a lot of wear and tear. Not that i feel bad for the new owners, they can throw money at it and fix it just fine. I am just stressing at the thought that maybe this is what will happen to the new house. Will it be too much for me to maintain? will i end up washing the damn floor over and over because it never looks clean enough? (i have white linoleum here…whomever invented that should die a firey death.) will i end up with cobweb covered molding because i can’t actually SEE what’s up there?
The more i plan for the new one, the more i loathe this one. The more i blame a lot of my problems and unfulfilled desires on the three room apartment I have worn down to the nubbin. I am pissed off that i have spent years divesting myself of things just because i didn’t have the space…and now that i will HAVE the space, i may have to rebuy them. Not just books, and media, but furniture, carpets, pots and pans, many things that i collected because i wanted a home of my own one day, and then surrendered that dream accepting that i would die in this little hovel. So why die with a bunch of stuff my brother will just throw out? Essentially anything that could be sold, got sold, and the things that were kept are worthless to anyone but me.
While making my little plans and lists, one of the things i have missed the most is having a workbench…for a few years I HAD a work bench, cobbled together from old kitchen cabinets. in a dedicated area in the apartment..but as the volume of cats increased my private cat free zones had to be surrendered. Now i am down to three work areas about 24″ wide… kitchen counter, my desk and a small table, and no matter what project I break out, it all has to be put away every time my back is turned. All for the lack of DOORS…no i don’t have actual doors this fucking apartment only had those closet folding louver things which any cat worthy of the name can push open.
After the 1st 10 years I finally gave up my workshop and broke up all my tools and materials for fixing things, not just books… everything is stored in containers and drawers secreted all over the apartment. Repair items are the things i don’t give up. Tapes, glues, tools, hinges, knobs, and a clutter of other doohickeys and widgets are what stands between me and the absolutely bottom. Repairing and resurrecting things has been my mainstay since i was a kid. I was always collecting things and dragging home devices and furniture that only needed a little TLC to continue doing its thing. Repairing books was an easy segue from repairing everything else. But I don’t even do that anymore. Lacking a work space I can’t do anything more than the most minute repairs. Even the book presses are just ornamental door stops now.
I WILL have a work area in the new place, else why bother? I don’t know if it will be in a spare room or a basement or just in the living room window looking out onto the world (that’s where i put my 1st one in my 1st house) but it will have a place for everything and it will have a bloody great lockable door. I pulled up the part numbers for the Akro Mills small parts cabinets. which i am shocked to find are a lot cheaper than i had expected them to be. If i had known the prices had gone down so much i would have bought them already…but right now i have no place to put them. These little drawers aren’t good for just electronics…but the number of small things i keep on hand JUST for fixing things could fill more than one of these… hooks, latches, nail polish, files, tacks, carpet thread, upholstery needles, brushes, emery boards and bunch junk drawer dross.
In my fantasies each widget has its own drawer next to the next one and so forth. When i get settled and have all my crap spread out on the work bench, I will unbox several of these puppies straight from Amazon and have myself a long luxurious sorting session putting each item in its own drawer with its own label. One of the voices in my head, (the only one that’s awake, the other is still sulking) keeps reminding me of how old i am, and that setting up anything in the new place that is elaborate or expensive is just a waste of time, because when i die it will all go out with the junk man, i turned my deaf ear towards that one and put a little gorilla tape over it’s big mouth. A little OCD never hurt anyone.