So I get down to New York last night for the final get everything sorted before the sublet begins on February first to find a slim certified mail envelope from the landlord under the door. It's much too thin to be the lease renewal for April, but even so, when I open it this morning and see the refusal to allow the sublet and the refusal to renew the lease in April, it's still a shock and I have to sit down for a while before I stop shaking.
And 20 Hours Later:
Enough of a shock that, added to some caught-from-Star-Child mysterious bug that I was already in the grip of pardon my syntax, I spent the rest of the day flat on my back watching episode after episode of The Human Jungle, eating tapioca pudding and drinking Theraflu.
I woke up at 4:30 this morning, immediately climbed up the ladder to the top of one closet, took down the box of Cardsox samples that's been up there for 25 years, emptied them all into a big black trash bag, climbed up the ladder to the top of the other closet, took out the comforter/quilt my mother gave me 30 years ago, stuffed that into the same trash bag, put on my raincoat and took the bag downstairs out on to the street for big trash pick up day; I was already too late for my landlord's contractor, so had to put the bag next to the trash of the pet shop next door. This probably means his carrier will refuse to pick up my bag, and when I go to the post office today I'll be walking over soggy pairs of white lace socks inside A Little Present for the New Baby greeting cards.
Time for another tapioca pudding. I think it's called comfort food.
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