Discomfort

I write this entombed in a filthy, foul-smelling apartment where I must spend three more months because of work. My beautiful summer in rural Nova Scotia is set mainly in this hovel.

When I moved in I was excited to live so close to work at a “too good to be true” price. Of course, as they say, if it sounds too good to be true, it is. Down the green and gray walls of my room ran a molasses-coloured mass from the previous tenant. Retching, I tried to clean it but the hard water and cleaner just manage to smear the brown goo. Disillusioned, I accepted my fate in this ugly hold-over from cheap 1970s “architecture.”

In the mornings I shower but as soon as I dry myself off I feel like I should bathe again. The water is not clean. My morning coffee tastes of chlorine and brine. The work day can’t start soon enough.

Day in and day out I go to work and come “home” to my lonely room in a lonely building. My roommate almost never surfaces and when he does he speaks very little to me. It didn’t take me long to meet the other roommates. They are shy, love sugar and scurry around the kitchen counters, cabinets and floor. No wonder my other roommate barely comes out of his room, the place is infested with ants.

My only respite from the nightmare of living in this filth is a writing class I take via distance. Every Tuesday evening I imagine Halifax, the city where the school is located; fresh market vegetables, my clean apartment and my jolly British roommate who is always up for a laugh. Why am I in Cape Breton? 

I moved to Cape Breton for work. I chose it because I wanted adventure. I chose it because Capers are known for their out-going and welcoming nature. Other than my interred roommate I’ve been met with loud profanities. This place is depressing.

One Tuesday night, my professor’s digitized voice informed the class that we need to put ourselves in an uncomfortable situation for one hour. One hour? How hellish. But still, this is my main joy. Surely my prof wouldn’t put us in a position of harm. 

I tried to follow the curriculum. I went to Wal-Mart. I hate those large swarms of bargain starved beer bellies and comb-overs. They seek cheap products made with the idea that they are breakable, no beautiful art behind their creation. 

As the doors slid open and the sterile light and white noise of customers enveloped me I had a realization. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about the things I hated about Wal-Mart. The sights and sounds that used to offend my senses are no longer all that bad.

I began to see beautiful things about the big box I loathed. It was clean, no molasses substance oozing down the walls. Sure the consumer colony resembled the ants of my apartment but they weren’t crawling over my food. 

Living in this hovel may be the most consistently uncomfortable I’ve been in years but at least it is helping me see the good in other places.