I was sure the “allergies from hell” are what got me so sick, but the doctor’s diagnosis for my newest and latest virus is that it has nothing to do with my allergies and is just coincidence.

“And the fact that I get viruses and infections a lot?”

Coincidence.

Not buying it.

SOMEthing is getting me constantly sick. I’m vigilant with hand washing and Purell usage post-subway rides, but I’m going to step it up, starting with the institution of a strict no-shoes-in-the-house-policy, especially since we walk over half a mile to the subway on a regular basis through this filthy neighborhood filled with dog feces no one bothers to pick up and the ever-present “loogeys” that dot the sidewalk. Oh, and the human pee! On Wednesday there was a man taking a leak on the side of the corner store. The river snaked its way into my path on the sidewalk causing me to have to leap over it. I opened my mouth to yell at him, but then I got worried he would turn around.

Seriously? SERIOUSLY? There is a gigantic hole in my bedroom ceiling. Last night it was a steady drip-drip-drip of water through the plaster, which I discovered in one of those unpleasant “Oh, FUCK!” moments where the unbelievability of a situation grips you and you can’t quite believe what you’re seeing. We sprang into action, getting pots and pans to catch the drips like we were on the set of the Honeymooners, and then I called my landlord and my super, neither of whom got back to me until this morning (of course!). The water even managed to work its way down behind the paint on the walls, so there are blue “Midwest Spring” colored bubbles of icky water suspended in the middle of the wall. There goes my paint job. They’re kind of fun to play with, though; like small, cold boobs.

I went upstairs and knocked on my neighbors door, hoping they would stop doing whatever it was that was turning my bedroom into a swamp. There was an Eddie Murphy-esq “WHO IS IT?!” behind the door (we are in Bed Stuy, after all, and this is how you answer the door in MY neighborhood!), and when they finally opened they had no idea what I was talking about. They were also less than thrilled to be bothered at 10:30 in the evening by my, “Hey, you’re flooding my apartment, can you quit what you’re doing?” request, but whatever. I was less than thrilled to have their stanky bathwater splashing on my bookcase, so we’re even.

Thankfully it was only the walls and some laundry that got hit with the ick. Nothing got on my bed, which would have been so trauma inducing after the week I’ve had that I would have had to be committed. The super and landlord are taking care of it now. I got one glimpse of the gigantic hole they’d sawed in the ceiling and the black, gooey stuff that was coming out of it and decided to hide out downstairs for the rest of the day with the dogs.

Update: The neighbor’s tub has been plugged for months, and instead of alerting the landlord, they just let it be. The result was the pipe burst and leaked all over my bedroom. Awesome.

I miss owning my own house.