I have not yet cried or thrown up, but I want to do both. This, by the way, is why I like renting. After the initial "shit fuck fuck fuck shiiiiit!" reaction (mostly caused by stepping into a hallway that was so sodden with water that there was an actual splash, like jumping into rain puddles only with carpet and IN YOUR HOUSE) we called maintenance and they've pretty much been here ever since. Our maintenance guys and our property manager are the bomb, y'all.
In the meantime, some things were ruined by the deluge. Our house is in complete disarray because we (and by "we" I really mean The Fella, who is fantastic in the kind of crisis that pushes every single one of my anxiety buttons) had to pull everything out of harm's way AND out of the way of the maintenance folks and put it... Somewhere. There are not many somewhere IN Le Petite Maison (that sounds so much fancier than "our teeny tiny studio apartment, no?) so everything is covered in stuff and the cat has been banished to the bathroom (to her extreme displeasure-- even as I type I can hear her trying to escape) and it's generally just a mess.
I'm trying like mad to be all bright-sidey about this. Maybe it's a chance to downsize and reorganize. Maybe this is the push we need to actually start talking about/looking at a bigger place. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But right now, I am cold and unshowered and stressy and cranky. So I'm not quite there.
But I will get there, I'm sure.