Dear sisters,
I sit in our new apartment filled with buckets of paint,
tools and bags of rubbish to be picked up tomorrow. Light comes from spare
bulbs dangling from freshly carved holes in the ceiling. Somehow we have to
move in here this week. We have managed to postpone the move by one more day,
because a bathroom, doors to rooms and running water are useful for general
living, yet still lacking. The doors in question stand in formations in my
study, freshly sprayed, like an art installation.
I am waiting for the Ikea-assembly-men to finish erecting
our Stolmen walk in closet, which they didn’t manage to complete yesterday, because
it is hard and I am glad I don’t have to do it myself. Still, something is not
right in this set-up; me sitting here until late at night- it is presently
nearly midnight - waiting in an empty house, sitting at our incomplete kitchen
island, because the assembly men walked off for a few hours on undisclosed
business yesterday, but we have long passed rational decision-making or
complaints; as long as they finish tonight. I still believe in the miracle that
everything will come together by 2100 hrs tomorrow. I will believe in it, until
it really is too late and I stand in a bedroom still wet from the paint, no
curtains hanging in front of the window, to lay my weary head. I don’t mind; the
worst will have passed. A few paint fumes and a little peaking by the neighbors
will not deter me.
Anyway, I am listening to This American Life through my
i-phone, so really it is quite peaceful, but a sofa would have been nice.
And now a picture medley of the week in Normandy, called "Why are you so happy. S3?"
Love S 1
