Yes... I'm alive. Kinda.
On August 23, my building's water was shut off because of a crack in the watermain that leads into my building. When they turned the water on, the increase in pressure caused 3 apartments in the building to flood from their bathroom faucets. I received a call 45 minutes after the water was turned on that I was one of those lucky residents! By the time I got home less than 10 minutes later, I could already tell it was bad: the parquet flooring in my apartment had already started to bulge and warp. As my landlord/condo owner was unreachable, I had to make the executive decision to have the building's contractors pull up all of the affected parquet (about 90% of my apartment) because the floor wasn't salvageable and mold would form within 24-48 hours.
I spent that night tearing my apartment apart -- trying to see what was damaged/destroyed (such as the area rug that absorbed lots of water and probably saved my bookshelves and couch or the ClosetMaid drawers I had put in my bathroom), what needed to be cleaned -- and then putting as much as I could in my dry kitchen for when the contractors would come in the next day to pull up the rest of the parquet and haul it away. As you can imagine, this wasn't good for my back or my neck. The next day, my landlord checked in and basically told me that it was my fault and to open my checkbook for a brand new hardwood floor (hah!) and/or that maybe I should look for another place to live (ugh!). **raises an eyebrow** I won't go into the rest of that drama because this isn't the time or place to discuss it. But for right now, know that there's a resolution in place -- the building is submitting a claim to their insurance (as they should) because this was a systemic problem.
But it's two weeks later and I still don't have a floor or a plan to have a floor. Right now I'm rocking some throw rugs and canvas drop cloths on top of mastic/cement. I'm stressed because I'm living out of suitcases, my kitchen is not functional, I cannot clean, and the smell is horrible. My little cat, Jack, is stressed out and scent marking all of his toys/furniture.
I could handle all of this stress if I had a release -- but I can't box (gosh I love hitting a heavy bag), there's no man in my life, so no cathartic sex to be had, and my body is telling me not to run (my neck is sore, and I'm experiencing neuropathy/weakness/weird sensations down my left arm because of the nerve being pinched). I spent most of Labor Day weekend in my apartment feeling very trapped. I'm doing my best to not use food/alcohol as a coping mechanism. To that extent it is really great that Fitbloggin is around the corner and I get to focus on that.
Stress testing is when you push an entity to its breaking point, or subject it to extreme forces, to know how it will respond in a real-time situation. The idea of stress testing made me think about the Tacoma Narrows Bridge Collapse in 1940. Engineers thought they knew how to build a safe suspension bridge and then something like the collapse happens. Put to myself, sometimes even all the knowledge I have about myself and how I handle stressors doesn't matter when I'm pushed past the point of what was formerly thought as my breaking point. It's just a quesiton to which I don't know the answer: how will I respond?
I don't know, I really don't. In the meantime I'm just trying to be gentle with myself -- full of compassion, forgiveness, mindfulness -- and snuggle with the kitties as much as possible.