The wallpaper is peeling. Horribly. I haven't decided if it's due to age or poor application, but regardless of the cause, it's peeling all the same. Bubbling up and cracking at the seems. At first, I thought removing it would be a good idea, at least it would leave a clean slate to throw some paint on or even re-paper. That was foolish. Underneath proved even worse than the peeling paper. Lathing and horse hair plaster. This place is falling apart. Built cheaply even back in its heyday, it's a fire and safety hazard.
Uneven planks make up the floor, which doesn't even appear fitting for an old deck. The spaces between each various sized piece are wide and deep, things always get lost down there. I'm not sure where 'down there' is, somewhere between ceiling and floor. I try not to think about what could possibly be down there along with all the random items I have personally witnessed being lost to the under-floor purgatory. Sometime during the past century, someone obviously thought painting each plank a different shade of brown/green would look good, but it doesn't.
There used to be carpeting, a horrible pea-green half shag carpet. All but the hallway stairs has been pulled up. It may have been an attractive color at some point, early in its life, but now it is a nauseating dingy shade of its former self. The wiring is as old as the lath and plaster walls, and is holding up about as well. I'm thankful there have been no fires yet, but the frequent arcing and blow outlets and fuses are worrisome enough.
The bathroom plumbing upstairs leaks, and charmingly enough under the plumbing there is a light fixture and some various type of pressed material ceiling tiles. They used to be white, but now browned from the leak. It's actually gotten worse with each attempt I've made to fix it. Now, rather than just make the light fixture below useless, it has progressed to leaking down the wall and onto the stairs. That's not good. The walls in the hallway and stairs are pressed board panels. The leak is starting to cause the panels to swell, I don't want to imagine what's going on beneath them.
Near as I can tell, there is no insulation, I guess that is common for old places like this. But it doesn't make for very warm winters. Neither does the make-shift heater in the cellar. From what I've gathered through various conversations with my landlord, it used to be some kind of coal heating system, which has since been jimmied into running on oil. Very poorly.
The upstairs kitchen, and both back rooms off either kitchen are unheated. Nothing running to them for them to get heat. The side room off the dining room has a vent going to it, but nothing comes through. Another thing I don't want to imagine; what might be blocking it.
This place is a shit-hole. I often think if anyone of authority were aware of its condition, it would be condemned. But then I'd be out of a home.
Relentless. Sometimes simple description is better than anything fancy. It's called 'letting the facts speak for themselves.'
ReplyDeleteNot that a piece like this writes itself or does not require writing artistry. From the first image, a brave place to start (no overview, right in the reader's face) to the depressing but very much earned concluding last sentence, this piece vibrates with authorial intent, presence, and purpose.