When I first got to Vermillion, I told myself to be content with the apartment I had--which was perfectly serviceable--and ride out the next four years. But I haven't been anywhere for that long since graduating high school, and as 18 months was approaching, I started getting itchy feet and noticing For Rent signs around town. A phone call here, an email there, and I found this place in February, during my I-need-a-place-that-will-permit-a-dog phase (phase not entirely passed). It's a single story house (unless you count the rather spacious attic, but I don't) with a basement apartment (Patrick says hi). Compared to my last place, this whole place is spacious. I admit that one of things I am still most jazzed with is the linen closet. Somehow, it makes me feel like I've finally entered adulthood (ten years too late), having that linen closet. There are other perks, too. Washer, dryer, dishwasher, central air and heating, and windows windows windows. Good-size windows, too. Long ones, standing in twos and threes. I counted them up when I got here. If you count the screened-in porch, and why not?, I have 25 of them. The light in this place in the morning is amazing. It makes the light in my last place look like I was living in a basement, when I was not.
That's not to say there aren't drawbacks. When I walked into the empty house on day 1, before any of my stuff was moved, I thought I had made a huge mistake. It was filthy. I mean, filthy. Mom, Dad, Kelli, you thought it bad when you were here? You have no idea. The walls were padded with cobwebs, especially in the corners where wall meets ceiling (these are nine-foot ceilings). The floor was dusty and gritty. The kitchen window was almost impossible to see through, the windowsills were black (I later discovered they were actually white), and four of the blinds came crashing down when I pulled the cord to open them. The water wouldn't drain in the bathtub, even when I pulled a nest of dark hair from the drain. Six light bulbs were burnt out or missing. In the kitchen, there were scorch marks on the counter top and the stove top was another grease fire waiting to happen. There was a pickle jar in the cupboard holding brine, straws and lollipop sticks and Chiquita Banana stickers at the bottom of the dishwasher, and broken chairs and soiled rugs on the porch. And when I went into my walk-in closet (which has no light), a shower of Trojans fell on top of me. (I forgot to tell you that one, Ma.) I almost cried. Instead, I called the manager.
She sent over "cleaners." They were here and gone in 30 minutes, while I was renting the U-Haul. I think all they managed to do was sweep. Brava, girls. What magic. So I undertook to clean the whole place myself. That is, I'm still undertaking it. And if I may say so myself, this is looking like a whole new house. I've done so much scrubbing I think my hands will never recover from the dried-with-bleach feel or SOS pad indentations. With Mom, Dad, and Kelli's help, I painted the back room, transforming the suffocating dark red and blue into a much friendlier, light, butter cream yellow; we also did the kitchen. The rest of the house is on my to-do list. Dad and I bought a new exhaust duct because the old one was slashed. Because the manager is useless, I've remounted the blinds myself (I must say, I'm quite proud of my handiwork). I did finally get her to send the AC guy (who is just as unimpressed with her managerial skills as I am, so we bonded over that), but she hasn't lifted a finger about the ceiling fan or the exhaust-duct-goes-to-the-crawl-space-and-not-an-outside-vent issue. There's a mountain of lint down there. Fire hazard, anyone?
I don't know if you are still reading at this point. This surely can't be interesting to anyone but me. But my point is, I've got "projects" ahead of me, and to be perfectly honest, I'm kind of loving every minute. Cleaning, painting, repairing, conferring with the Ace Hardware dudes, and looking out of my gorgeous windows is immensely satisfying. I kind of don't want it to end, but of course I do. I want to see what this place will look like when it's just the way I want it.
Oh, and Mom, Dad, and Kelli: You'll be interested to know that the total count of nails I've pulled from the walls is now up to 83. I discover another little handful every day! You'd think I would have found them all by now, but you'd be wrong. :)
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