Why Can’t I Just Let Things Be?

Do you ever ask yourself why you can’t just let things be?

Because I do.

Frequently.

Usually around 2 a.m., when everyone else is asleep and my brain decides it is the perfect time to convene a completely unnecessary congressional hearing titled:

Am I advocating for my family, or am I just being a bitch?

There are no witnesses.

There is no legal counsel.

Just me, staring at the ceiling, presenting arguments for both sides.

Our A/C stopped working on August 8.

Not partially working.

Not maybe change the filter and see what happens working.

Dead.

And because the universe has impeccable comedic timing, we have basically been in a heat wave ever since.

Because apparently losing your A/C in August wasn't enough.

We needed a theme.

The rental company gave us a temporary window unit, which I genuinely appreciated.

Unfortunately, one window unit cooling an entire house during a heat wave is a little like handing someone an umbrella during a hurricane and saying,

“There. Better?”

The house was still reaching 86 degrees.

Eventually, we bought another unit ourselves for one of the kids’ bedrooms.

$200.

Money I would have preferred to spend on plants, Target, literally anything fun, or perhaps just keeping $200.

But now one bedroom was actually cool.

Luxury.

The rental company tried to bring us another unit Tuesday night. Someone came out at 8:30 p.m. to install it—which I genuinely appreciated—only for us to discover it had been damaged in transit.

Of course it had.

At this point I would have been more surprised if it worked perfectly.

Nobody did anything wrong.

Nobody intentionally broke it.

It was simply the universe adding another chapter to The Summer We Became Indoor Lizards.

And yes a lizard literally had tried to move into our home, i had to corral him and place him back outside which admidatly was cooler then my home.

Meanwhile, my husband and I have approached this situation very differently.

His philosophy is basically:

We’re okay. We can manage. We like this house. We want our lease renewed. Let's not make this into World War III.

Which is reasonable.

Responsible, even.

My philosophy is more:

WHY ARE WE PAYING RENT TO “MANAGE” LIVING INSIDE AN EASY-BAKE OVEN?

Also reasonable.

In my opinion.

Unfortunately, I have this deeply inconvenient personality trait where once I know there might be an answer to something, I need to know the answer.

I knew the military had a housing resource that could review our lease and explain what protections and options we actually had.

So I went.

I figured I would ask a couple questions.

Maybe spend 30 minutes there.

Two and a half hours later...

I apparently had earned an honorary minor in landlord-tenant relations.

We went through the lease. We talked about repair timelines. Temporary cooling. Habitability. Documentation. What we could request. What we could potentially do if this continued.

And at one point the advice was essentially:

You can push significantly harder than you currently are.

Which is extremely dangerous information to give a woman who was already trying very hard to behave herself.

Because here's the thing:

My husband isn't wrong.

The lightning strike that caused this entire mess wasn't the rental company's fault.

The heat wave isn't their fault.

Parts take time.

Home warranties take time.

The person who brought us the damaged A/C certainly didn't smash it before leaving the house just to keep the plot interesting.

There are a whole bunch of people trying to solve a problem nobody intentionally created.

I understand that.

I really do.

I would simply also like my house to stop being 82–86 degrees.

Apparently I am demanding.

We have fans everywhere.

Window units working overtime.

Doors strategically opened and closed like we're operating some kind of highly sophisticated NASA climate-control system.

Except NASA probably has central air.

We spent our own money on another unit.

And last night, I finally abandoned my bedroom and slept in my son's room because he has the good A/C.

This morning my husband looked at me and said:

“You look really well rested. You have so much energy.”

Sir.

I slept in air conditioning.

Apparently I have discovered the secret to wellness.

Forget magnesium.

Forget meditation.

Forget morning sunlight.

Forget drinking 97 ounces of water from a cup the size of a toddler.

Ladies, have you tried not sweating while unconscious?

Ten out of ten.

Highly recommend.

The problem is that while my body finally slept, my brain is still doing what it does best:

Making everything complicated.

Because I genuinely don't want to be difficult.

I don't want to threaten people.

I don't want to wave my lease around yelling about my RIGHTS while someone slowly backs away from me.

I don't want our rental company seeing my name pop up on their phone and whispering,

“Oh God. Her again.”

But I also don't want to confuse being kind with being silent.

There is a weird little line between advocating for yourself and feeling like you're causing problems.

And apparently I have decided to tightrope-walk that line at 2 a.m. every night instead of sleeping.

Because that seems productive.

I'm slowly realizing there is actually a giant middle ground between:

“It's fine. We'll just live like this.”

and

“YOU HAVE UNTIL 1700 HOURS.”

Who knew?

I can appreciate the people trying to help us while still saying the current solution isn't enough.

I can understand that repairs take time while still expecting reasonable temporary accommodations.

I can know my rights without immediately weaponizing them.

I can be patient without becoming a puddle.

So that's where I am.

Trying to find the middle ground.

Be kind.

Be reasonable.

Document everything.

Know my options.

Ask for what we actually need.

Try not to start a war.

And keep the hounds securely contained unless circumstances require the release of said hounds.

Personal growth, really.

Although there's a very good chance I'm just delirious from the heat.