Twelve more days until I move. The windows are wide open, my air purifier roaring, I´m sitting on my bed – behind my provisional desk – my feet cold as ice. The temperature outside is around -1 C (30 F), but a pervasive smell of dead animals, stale alcohol, and moldy food flows in through the cracks in the door.
Now that more people have moved in, and have taken to cooking in the middle of the night, I am really getting acquainted with the horrors of this house. Whereas I thought dead mice on the floor, and heroine-addicts in an adjacent room with dark and sunken eye-sockets were disturbing, this smell is worse than anything.
I´ve been coming home late, taking the last train home – today and yesterday I spent in the library, reading Don Quijote to practice my Spanish – and afterwards I took to a place called “Credible” (cracks me up) to have a bite to eat. I never cook here anymore. The dead vermin and lack of ventilation give me a gag reflex anytime I do.
Tomorrow I´m meeting a friend for a walk in a nearby city, on Saturday I´m having drinks with a different friend, on Sunday church and a birthday, Monday I´ll be cooking for another friend. You get the idea – meet as many people as possible, only to return here for the most basic of things – sleep.
As soon as I get the keys, about ten days from now, I´m bringing my inflatable bed and a bunch of covers to my new place. Although I haven´t moved anything yet (due to surgery I heavily depend on others to move things for me), I´ll end up moving there immediately and thanking God I won´t have to put up with the stench anymore.