House of pain

Talk about the American Dream turning into a nightmare. When I moved here in 2003, I bought a 1940 house in the Student Ghetto, the neighborhood north of the Swamp where, as a student, I rented a room (for $165 a month) a couple of decades ago. At first, I felt right at home. “What could be better than this?” I thought, more jovial than smug. My abode doubled as a time machine, resurrecting my college days with every creak of the wooden floor, every firing of the gas range, and every knock of the redheaded woodpecker against the wild oak towering over my roof.

My heavily mortgaged time machine, however, kicked me back to the Dark Ages as soon as I started the inevitable, ubiquitous Renovation Project.

With my property’s power on prolonged pause, I grew a limb called a flashlight, which I used to navigate the transformed, treacherous terrain. In darkness punctured by a solitary light beam, I stepped over debris, nails, cement mix, plaster bags, drills and other objects of construction and destruction. As my lungs drew in a daily dose of dense dust, my quality of life plunged to the point of earning me the right, never exercised, for shameless eternal kvetching.

I know what you’re thinking – I should look no further than that dusty mirror for the guilty party. Believe me, I take full responsibility for my Jim Carrey-worthy misadventure. But I must explain I didn’t buy this money-munching monster for the love of old homes or for the sake of engaging in trendy home improvement. I just wanted to commute by foot and would have gladly bought a new condo but found only single-family homes built at a time when Stalin was considered one of the good guys.

Soon, folks seeking a pedestrian lifestyle will be able to live hassle free, thanks to several condo developments such as University Corners (University Avenue and NW 13th Street) and Campus View (Archer Road and SW 13th Street) springing up around UF.

My only option, as I saw it, was to ride out a nightmare. Tripling the repairmen’s estimated timetable, I expected it would take up to three months. It’s nearly a year and a half later, and I’m only now putting the finishing touches on a project that added value to my house but shaved years off my life.

Without going into details on how I made it without electricity for months or without running water for weeks, I’ll just point out I felt barely inconvenienced and even somewhat nostalgic when the summer hurricanes twice knocked out my power for a few days.

The one source of discomfort that really irked me during the Renovation Project may sound like a blessing, but believe me, eating out every meal is no picnic. It’s like having to drive to the movie theater every time you want to relax in front of the TV. I especially resented having to dress up to eat breakfast. What could I do? Skipping the most important meal of the day would have meant running the risk of fainting, or maybe even dying, before lunchtime.

Other than that, though, I grew so accustomed to my new lifestyle that when family members or friends visited, I took their shock and awe as unnecessary, naive sympathy. I even started accepting having to deal with the repairmen, who, despite their masculine image, are some of the most sensitive souls I’ve ever encountered.

I realized the best way to deal with them is to pretend you’re dating. I courted them, chased them, and gained insight into their peculiar ways. My heart missed a beat when one of my favorite workers left me a voice mail saying he was available again. “He called!” I told my friends, gushing. “He actually called me!”

At some point, I left to stay at a friend’s vacated, furnished house. I returned home after a few days because I feared if I stayed any longer, I would never leave. Also, when one morning I had to call in a plumber to turn off the kitchen faucet, I realized fixing two homes might kill me faster than skipping breakfast.

Was it all worth it? I don’t know. I still have nightmares …