Over the weekend -- well, Friday evening, to be precise -- our bathroom ceiling collapsed.
Well, not collapsed, exactly, at least not completely. And it's not like our upstairs neighbor's toilet crushed me while I was catching up on my reading. But what happened is, our bathroom ceiling, right above the toilet, developed some sort of water damage and is now sagging precariously about 6 inches above my head. Also, a huge amount of plasters fell down onto the floor, into the shower and right into the bowl of the crapper.
Best of all, our landlady is out of town! Yaaaaay.
Anyway, I was planning on cleaning house this weekend, but I ended up not doing it, because the bathroom is a total disaster area, and sometime in the next day or two there will be workmen running roughshod over the whole apartment, so it'd just get all messed up again anyway. What's the point?
I'm sort of afraid to go in there right now. Not only is it a sheetrock-and-plaster-covered pit, and not only do I have this terrible fear that the whole ceiling is going to collapse right on top of my head while I'm taking a piss (a more-than-usually embarrassing death, that would be), but I also have a suspicion that the ceiling calling has caused the release of all kinds of toxic mold -- it smells terribly murky and funky, and I get the idea that I should be wearing a respirator when I go in there.
Bleah. COME HOME SOON, LANDLADY!