When it rains...

...it pours, and the leak in my roof caves in which floods my apartment for the first of three times in the week.  And no, I'm not exaggerating.  In the last week my apartment has flooded not one, not two, but three times.  I have had a maggot infestation (yes, maggots), mold from the flooding, and most recently , the ceiling in my bathroom caved in, the walls buckled and the medicine cabinet crashed to the floor. Ten days ago, my apartment was pure *perfection*, my haven, my 'escape from it all'.  It used to be pristine, gorgeous, like an oasis to be coveted.  Or at least it appeared that way.  What used to be my favorite place in this world has suddenly morphed into what can only be described as the seventh circle of Hell.  I'm coming to realize that those age-old life lessons are true:  appearances can, indeed, be deceiving.  Chalk one up for mom... one by one her mantras are proving to be true.  My cozy little home may have looked the part, but beyond the newly painted walls, hardwood floors and crown molding is old, rotten wood, gutters that haven't been cleaned since OJ was tried, and plumbing problems that haven't been tended to since I learned how to multiply eight by four.  It's been more than difficult to suppress the "why me?", "why me?", "why ME?!?" mentality that I refuse to let get the best of me.  It's called perspective, people.  The situation is far from ideal.... but in the end I have to remember that it could be a heck of a lot worse.  

Alas, here I sit, in my childhood bed... having taken my mom up on her offer to (temporarily)  move home.  Though it's admittedly strange to be sleeping in my old bed, there's something immensely comforting (and not at all creepy) about looking over and seeing my childhood teddy bear staring at me with his dopey, glassy gaze.  

So, the question remains, what's the next step?  Do I move?  Do I let my (negligent) management fix the problems at hand?  Or do I milk this free rent for all that it's worth?  Hmmm......