After posting yesterday morning about the construction noise making me crazy, I went to take a shower before attending an art exhibition. I entered the shower to this racket:
The hot and cold water knobs were literally vibrating from the drilling going on just on the other side of the shower wall. If there were ever a way to ruin the calming effects of a nice shower, it's taking a shower with this nonsense going on.
I was so rattled and ticked off by the time I finished getting ready in the bathroom that I just wanted to run away from home. I grabbed my handbag, threw my Pilates clothes in a bag because I intended to stay away from home for hours until my Pilates class, made profuse apologies to Leo for deserting him with all that noise, and left.
I got in a taxi and promptly realized I didn't have my house keys.
I dumped out my bag, I checked in and around the seat. I lifted up a floor mat in the taxi that was covered in some sort of animal hair.
No keys. Nada. Zilch.
I called Jimmy to ask him to call the police officer on duty at our building to ask him to look in the elevator, out on the street where I got the taxi, in the back hallway, etc.
No keys, Nada, Zilch.
Jimmy's driver met me at the art exhibition (which thankfully was very close to the consulate) to bring me his set of keys.
Instead of staying out for a couple hours until my Pilates class, I went back to the apartment because I had to find the keys. Naturally they were right where I left them. On the kitchen counter.
I don't think I've ever lost my keys before. Not ever.
All of this is to say that I must, for reasons of health and sanity, get out of this construction-ridden apartment building sooner rather than later.
Eleven more sleeps. Eleven more sleeps. Eleven more sleeps.
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