Hooray! I have just moved back into my flat/studio, and in light of the fact that I now have furniture and room for spontaneous (and horrible) dancing I thought i’d recount the story of the day my house flooded with muddy crap-water.
One rainy afternoon in May of this year I came home to find my Mum frantically sweeping water away from the door to my room. I occupied the lower level of the house, and sprang to action when the reality of the situation hit me – it might actually flood. We swept away water and threw down towels and sucked on hoses in a futile attempt to syphon the water away from the main exits, only to have the water come from all sides. Shortly after we gave up the water rose up to my thighs. It’s a strange feeling seeing the space you live and work in in a state of complete chaos, and I couldn’t help but laugh as my flooring started floating while I waded through water trying to pick what I needed to save first, all while our big bulldog bounded through water after us because he wouldn’t leave us alone. People who drove large cars went ‘sightseeing’ and with each asshole that drove through the street these waves of muddy water came through the house. There were multiple garden gnomes floating in my bedroom by the time the waters reach their peak, as well as a mound of freshly mown grass creating a floating island for insects clinging to life. I managed to rescue a lot of my possessions before the water came up too high, but I did lose a lot of things too.
The biggest challenge for the past few months was not the fact that I had had a forced purging of my belongings, but the fact that I had to move upstairs with the rest of the family. I stuffed myself and my belongings into my little sisters room and patiently waited with the promise that downstairs would be back to normal soon. Insurance took months. Months of hassling and trying to hurry up the insurance company. Months of living like that hunchbacked lady in her junk heap in The Labyrinth.
Yesterday I finally got the all clear to move back downstairs, and it was like ‘moving out’ all over again. I am deliriously happy. It’s bliss having my own space again, and it’s amazing that having a dedicated studio space to write and sculpt has had such a big impact on my motivation.
So what have I learnt?
Everything can be replaced, except your favourite and very expensive mattress – get that shit to safety stat.
I prize my plants over most things I own
Having space is a luxury not to be taken for granted
Insurance is worth it, but it can be a GIGANTIC fuckaround
Most people who own 4×4 cars are assholes
Do not frolic around in the gross water when all hope of saving your belongings is lost, because you will get a wicked ear infection.