Day 277 of self-isolation and Day 138 without gas.
It’s currently snowing hard outside with temperatures finally dropping below 30 degrees. I guess New York has officially entered the winter months.
About two days ago, my landlord called me and asked whether or not I’d be home the following day. This pandemic has bound me to my apartment (as well as everyone else to their respective homes), like a white-collar prisoner or one of those pre-Hollow Jibakurei’s in Bleach. Keeping silent at how ridiculous his question was, I politely said to my landlord that I was indeed going to be present. He wanted to know if I can let the city inspector come into the building to check the new gas lines. Excited, I expected the arrival of an inspector would mean my building would finally have gas again — however, knowing how everything is fucked and everyone in this city likes to fuck you over, I bluntly asked my landlord when will we have heat and cooking gas. He said that the inspector may come three more times and hopefully we’ll have gas by the end of the month.
Imagine that: late December, we might be able to have heat and cook again (I hope you read that sarcastically).
The next day rolls around, and I let the inspector inside the building. I ask him when we’ll have gas and tell him how us remaining tenants don’t have heat and how miserable and dire the situation has been. Somewhat concerned, he replies, “I’m waiting for the plumber or contractor to meet me now.” Since this was during the middle of a work meeting, I returned to my apartment and never found out if that second person came. Seriously, you need two parties to be present… to come to a decision… to call the gas company… to turn on the gas? More red tape and forms and procedures? Even though we live in a progressive city, the politics and bureaucracy of everything is pathetic: we haven’t had gas for months, and now we’re going headfirst into a blizzard.
Today, as we’re getting about a foot of snow, I’m grateful for a few things:
- I own several pairs of long underwear, thanks to my trip to Iceland.
- The weather-proofing I installed onto my windows last week has helped immensely.
- I own many, many blankets — most of which were in storage and most of which are covered in either Nico or Dusty dog hair.
- I do have an entire bottle of Creme de Menthe — remnants from a pie recipe — which I can add to some hot cocoa and enjoy during my 2.5 week vacation while watching The Mandalorian or Fleabag.
Overall, I’ve survived the last few months without cooking gas, and also the last few weeks without adequate heat. I’m resourceful and adaptable, despite the fact I never joined the Boy Scouts.
With the first real snow that I’ve seen in years (Nico loved to play in the snow, and I can’t remember when she was able to do that before her passing), it’s a little disheartening that I’ve wrapped myself in blankets and long-johns in the midst of winter. I usually like the cold and strut around my apartment with just a t-shirt and basketball shorts, but it sucks to try to keep comfortably warm these days. Still, with Dusty around and experiencing her first snowfall, it makes me happy to see her frolic into piles of snow — like those videos of foxes gleefully jumping into pristine patches of whiteness. I might not be warm, but watching her enjoy this weather warms my heart. Despite the shittiness of 2020 and all the misfortune that befell me, it’s not so bad with her. Plus, she’s learned to sleep on my bed, and her snoozing puppy body makes a great foot warmer.
The snow definitely sets the mood for Christmas, and even though I’m unable to see my family this year, I’m glad to have a home with Dusty.