Oh, Jeez Louise. I finally got the last piece of documentation for that application for the Chelsea apartment, but it required me to go to the bank this morning. The bank is at One Broadway, which is all the way down at the tip of Manhattan. I needed documentation that I actually had a bank account and have had one for years. Then I had to shlep that to Soho and go sign things at my real estate guy's office. Then I came home and packed things. Then Richard came over with the cleaning and hauling guy to estimate what I'm getting rid of (a lot). Then I packed some more. Then I said fuck this, and went to Sarah's bar for therapy. Now I'm waiting for Chinese food.
I am beginning to get just a little tired of all of this. I get phone calls all day, every day, from eighteen directions telling I have to get all this done by Monday. Well, that's very nice, and I've called in a lot of markers and have a couple of crews of husky young men coming to help (thank GOD for spaghetti sauce in the freezer). But there's one major problem.
I DON'T HAVE AN APARTMENT. Everyone is totally focused on me packing up and getting ut of here, but I have no damn where to go! I have no final word on the Chelsea place, and you are not going to believe what is being proposed to me.
In short, I am supposed to pack up 20 years of my life by Monday, and then (presuming this apartment doesn't come through) move all of that into storage, and stay with my daughter until I find a house.
As an option, this bites the hind leg. A: Sarah lives in Bushwick. It is forty minutes away by subway. Because of my chest problems, I avoid subways without elevators and/or escalators, because it takes me 20 minutes to catch my breath at the top. Sarah's stop is stairs. (Say that ten times fast.)
B. My mother-in-law spends Christmas with us. Hi, Ben, you're 85, you're (as usual) carryng a million pounds of luggage, and you have to get to this godforsaken place in Brooklyn.
C. At a very stressful time, I am stuck in the middle of nowhere.
Now, the second option is more workable but a LOT more expensive. This is that all my stuff goes in storage, I get a hotel room in town (with a second bed), and then Ben and I get car service to Brooklyn and spend those three nights with Sarah (23, 24, 25). This is marginally workable, but where the hell do I get 20 lobsters on Christmas Eve day in Bushwick? And if I take the 45 minute subway ride to Chinatown (which is where they're always bought), what then? Another car service? And what about our Christmas tree?
If I sound hysterical, I AM hysterical. Nobody (except Sarah, who's equally hysterical) seems to understand how I feel about our traditional Christmas.
I am now full of Chinese food. This will at least make me sleep...which I don't seem to do much at the moment.
But I am GODDAMNED if I'll let anybody ruin my beloved Christmas. If all else fails, we'll do it in the damn storage unit.
ARRGGGHHH! And, HHHOOOWWWLLL! Also HELPPPPP! And for those of you to whom it comes naturally (like me), a few prayers would not come amiss.
Oh, and P.S. Jane, that would be a trip to meet you! Let me know!