Ceiling: (n) the upper interior surface of a room
I was intrigued. I was told by those who owned homes that it was ridiculous to pay rent and have no revenue being laid up for the future.
I bought into it.
For a while it went along real well. I especially was fascinated with adding small improvements that would show my flair and style.
And then the house turned against me. It felt very personal.
I do not know what I did to offend my four walls and a roof, but one after another, grievances, complaints and near-disaster lined up to offer a rebellious tantrum.
One night it all came to a head as I was sitting in my bedroom and the ceiling began to leak.
No–that word is too passive. It actually poured water down on me and the floor below.
It didn’t stop. There was no explanation. And I will always remember my first inclination:
“Damn, somebody outghta DO something about this.”
It took me a moment, but I did eventually realize that “somebody,” in this case, was me.
The explanation for my outpouring was pretty simple. The hot water heater had exploded, pouring out all of its contents–ruining carpets, warping floors and making the house smell like a high school locker room.
After eleven years, I got rid of my home. I will never own another one.
I do not begrudge those who disagree with my assessment, but for me, when the ceiling begins to pour forth water, I want to call a landlord instead of tapping my own resources.