Getting Off The Property

Last night, still having no luck reaching Loser Remodeling Guy, I asked my friend B if she was interested in a walk, because I needed to work off some frustration. So we headed north to Rogers Park, where we stopped by The Armadillo's Pillow, the coolest used bookstore ever. B found some more Henry the VIII/Tudor reading, and I got a copy of The Martian Chronicles (because I always lend it out and never get it back), and a book on Family Life in the Middle Ages. Just because.

As we were paying for our books, B-- mentioned The Diary of Anne Frank, and I said that as heartbreaking as her story and that of her family is, I find the book annoying. I just do.

The bookstore owner, who'd been silent until then, said, "It's refreshing to hear someone say that."

We then headed north to Ennui for tea and pastry, then back home. It was a beautiful night, and just what I needed.

Today I still could not get in touch with Loser Remodeling Guy, so I hopped on my bike for a ride to Lincoln Square, where I ate a bagel and drank some decaf and started The Martian Chronicles, and then walked around the square, happy to not deal with anything house-related for an hour or so. Then back on the bike and home, where I emailed the building management to see how soon I could get another key. The message I got was to call the super, who lived on the premises. I did, and after another painful English-is-not-my-first-language conversation, I arranged to meet him at the condo. When I arrived old men where playing bocce or boule or some such thing on the park;s grass, the lake in the background. It was a lovely day.

The Super came over: a sixty-something man, round and pleasant in that non-threatening way that reminds me of Nazi war criminals posing as Midwestern machinists. The plan was for him to give me a duplicate to my back door right then, and then have an additional common area key cut the next day. He handed me his security key.

"Is mine. It open everything. Yours, it opens laundry room, storage. This open everything. I not supposed to give to you."

"I understand."

I give to you until tomorrow. Then you get new key, and you give back my key."

"Yes, of course."

"Be very careful with key."

"Certainly."

"Is against law for me to give you this key."

"I understand. I'll be good, I promise."

So it was that I got access to the apartment, and checked on the work done in the bedroom.

It was very good. I was relieved. I then went home, borrowed my landlord's ladder, put on some painting clothes and proceeded to prime two rooms. On the ladder with the radio on, I was having severe flashbacks to 7 Bailey, but I knew that this time it would not be as brutal. Part of that is because I'm not willing to kill myself; happier to just let things be. All I want is to move in and relax in my new home by the lake.