Fortune has intervened and put me in touch with a new tenant to fill the impending vacancy in the Rumpus Room. We’ve negotiated some terms and talked about some plans for living in the loft together, and swiftly agreed that it’s time to turn the place from an open space into a spacious two-bedroom bachelor pad. So in two weeks’ time, I start to relive the aggravation of hard labor, clouds of sheetrock dust, and the constant smell of drying spackle and paint. Good grief. I hope I can remember all I learned that last time I tried a stunt like this. Luckily, the new tenant is something of a handyman, and will be able to play the construction foreman. (Not to mention his kind offers of installing some new electrical outlets and a washer/dryer. He’s been spoiled by the conveniences of home ownership.) I guess this means that I’ll actually have to clean up all the junk that’s been accumulating for the last couple of months and figure out where the hell it’s all supposed to go now.
Bleah. I don’t have the surplus time or energy to deal with major renovation, but it will be a good thing. Wish me luck.