When Jeff started work, it was up to me to chip away at the apartment during the day, doing any project a short girl with carpel tunnel could accomplish. I surprised myself, renovating both bathrooms, moving all the boxes around into each painted section of floor, assembling a lot of Ikea furniture and roughly setting up each “room”.
Something that we didn’t fully consider when choosing a loft space is that there is no storage. The basics you might find in an apartment from a closet to a pantry to a room divider did not exist in our place. If you ever decide to live in a loft that isn’t already packed with closets or cabinets, really consider the cost of these items and the need (or lack there of) for them in the future if you choose to leave. We bought all Ikea stuff for that reason. It wasn’t cheap, but it won’t be hard to let go of it when we move.
In the next month, the place slowly came together, broken up by a few floods, mysterious dripping and leaking, and roofing issues. Everyday, we were living in a construction site, eating our meals on a stool (the cafe table) and sitting on whatever was near. Our bodies ached, my arm was literally numb every morning, and most of the time we worked in turn-of-the-century dimness, though I think gas light would have actually been brighter. We ran out of money every week and ate like college students. Our food rations were so ridiculous, it was almost funny. Progress was noticed and welcomed, but honestly, there was no escaping the daunting work ahead. Sometimes I literally couldn’t escape, having to paint myself into smaller and smaller areas of the apartment in order to finish the floors so I could get onto unpacking and setting everything up.
The list on the fridge definitely kept me going, my mood lightening as it got darker and darker from all the cross-offs.