Bugger (In Which I Feel Sorry For Myself)

I live in a very cool place. I have a corner loft on the top floor of a converted, hundred year old school. My floors are original hardwood and the ceilings are 11 feet above those floors. My obnoxious, wobbly and ancient cat (21 as of October) and I have been quite happy here since moving in just over three years ago. But right now, I'm a tad stressed. The steadily expanding water stain on that 11 foot ceiling is freaking me out. Though not as much as the incessant drip of water into the Rubbermaid storage thing in the middle of my main room, below the fire suppression sprinkler that is porting the precipitation and snow melt into my space. Oh argh.

I got home the other day from a shoot in Toronto and I hadn't unpacked my gear from the cart. Thankfully the drips managed to miss the cart by a few inches or there'd be 20 grand worth of wet equipment to deal with and I'd basically be out of business. As it is, I'm pretty sure there's going to be a total disruption of my life in the next day or two as the damage potential increases. I'm not sure what the repairs will entail but I do know that at the very least it will mean ripping out much of my ceiling and replacing it. That's going to mean tearing down my editing suite, which again puts me out of business for the duration. And since I'm in the process of cutting a pilot, this couldn't be happening at a much worse time, as I'm sure my clients will agree.

I'm looking around at all the music equipment, the computers and video equipment, five overflowing bookcases and all my furniture and I'm about ready to throw up. This is going to be a nightmare. And while this all sucks for me, I'm really worried for my poor cat. She's become very feeble and frail in the last while and the looming chaos and disruption will throw her for a total loop. I had really hoped her last days and weeks would be more peaceful than appears likely. So here I sit as the water spats into the plastic tub on one side of me and baps down from the leaking roof onto the ceiling above me. Just now the world is peaceful (other than the incessant and arrhythmic liquid percussion), welcome calm, prepare for storm. Bugger.

UPDATE: Because every picture tells a story. Total length from sprinkler toward non-functional clock is about 10 or 11 feet and the fun is 3 or 4 feet wide (and no I don't seem to have a metric tape measure handy).