The Breakdown of Civilization
For those of you that don't know, I've been living a very strange existence in Los Angeles. I've essentially been camping in my condominium while overseeing the remodel of our two bathrooms and kitchen. It all began when my husband accepted a new job in the Coachella Valley and we decided (in our wisdom?) to fix up and lease our condo. Six weeks ago Rich and all of our belongings moved to the desert, so that he could start his new job. I gamely volunteered to stay here with th essentials -- my computer, a 13" tv (no cable), clothes, one set of sheets, a toilet, a shower, and an Aerobed. I decided that this would be an experiment in survival, not unlike the Biodome or a Yanni concert. Through the weeks, I have noticed an amusing and disturbing breakdown of civilization.
Week 1
I’ve slept on Aerobeds on vacations and they’ve been great. It’s so nice that I can adjust the firmness with a touch of a button. It’s not hard to log 7 or 8 hours of restful slumber.
I'm going to eat good while Rich is away. I go to Whole Foods and treat myself to Fiji water, peaches, organic yogurt, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, low-fat soup, whole wheat pitas and hummus.
Showering daily is a must, as is shaving my underarms, and scrubbing those feet and heels until they’re baby smooth.
I call Rich once or twice a day, just to keep him informed with the remodeling progress, and to let him know that I love him.
Week 3
Funny, I just can’t seem to get the firmness right on this Aerobed. It either slumps in the middle or is hard as a board. Still, I can get a decent 6 to 7 hours with only a little stiffness.
My diet, admittedly, has become a little lax. I enjoy Fiji water, Diet Pepsi, Red Vines, 100 calorie packs Chips Ahoy cookies, peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches, low-fat soup, and a huge barrel of assorted dry-roasted nuts.
I start showering every other day (Who’s going to see me anyway?). I shave, you know, when things become obvious. I think briefly about scrubbing my heels.
I’m sure that Rich must really miss me, so I call him 3 to 4 times a day and tell him about the remodeling, what I saw on TV, the scented candle I bought, and to let him know that I’m hoping this ordeal is over soon. Maybe, if I don’t have anything scheduled, I can come home this weekend?
Week 6
My lower back is turning on me, and on the Aerobed. At some point, I realize that I am averaging about 2 to 3 hours of sleep for every Advil swallowed. I watch “Sit and Be Fit” Aerobics on my 13” television every morning at 6am.
Fiji water, Diet Pepsi, Fuze Slenderize, Family-size bag of Red Vines, Stouffer’s frozen pot pies, Cup O’Noodles, Marie Calender’s fried chicken frozen meals, and Carl’s Jr. chili-cheese fries. I find myself buying $10 worth of lottery scratchers and The Da Vinci Code at 7-11. Who am I?
I shower when my personal stench overpowers that of the contractors’, and part my hair on the side that looks less greasy. The plasterer asks me to sand down some uneven drywall with my heels.
I'm pretty sure that I'm never coming hoooome! I call Rich every two to three hours (surely he doesn’t mind?) and whine about my remodeling frustrations. Occasionally I break down and babble about why fresh mushrooms constantly disappoint me. In an aside, I mention that I may be going “a little Ted Kaczynski.”