Monday, February 12, 2001

 

1:42 a.m. We've got a lot of rain -- pounding, sheeting, buckets of it coming down without letup, and I was waiting for the letup before standing down for the night, but it's just not coming. It's just coming down.

Igor was waiting for a break because tonight is garbage night, but there's been no break ... so he put on a big hat and a big coat and dragged all the recyclables out to the curb in a sloshy, sodden wet-boat-shoe-tracking mess.

Tomorrow: lots of spot scrubbing of the floor, if the rain lets up.

Tonight: the ants have come in, because they're flooded out. They've been making long happy trails up and down the white wall beside my desk, but for some reason the camera doesn't want to take their picture. Either they're too squirmy, or the day has been too dark, or both.

Leaks have sprung all over the place. I've got all the houseplants in different spots on the floor, on the sewing machine, and most disturbingly, on the platform where the bed usually is. I caught that leak almost just in time several hours ago when I went upstairs for more Advil.

It's not that the tooth hurts all that much now, it's just that since I have a big supply, I'm not bothering with any twinges, no matter how tiny. I'm pretty sure I'm not infected or re-infected, and now I'm more interested in basic human comfort ... thus, the occasional analgesic, if necessary.

We have various and oddly-placed leaks because the birds like to eat our strange barrel-shaped roof. You can hear them up there all the time, chipping and pecking away and then when you crawl up to see what they're doing, you can put your fingers in the little holes they've pecked through the black stuff into the yellow stuff underneath.

It's a mysterious roof, created in the late '70s, when the house was built. The leaks actually seem to come and go, almost self-healing at times ... and I think about the roof exactly the way I used to think about my teeth ... it's all part of the larger scheme, it's all going to be ok or not ok, depending on karmic forces beyond my control.

However, tonight there are leaks I can't really ignore, and the guy who comes with the tar is almost as expensive as the guy who comes with the file and drill ... and they both just look at what has served very well since the '70s and they tsk tsk tsk ... and they both have clipboards and, conveniently enough, credit-card swiping machines.

I have to thank my lucky star that people have given me more credit than I deserve -- it's the only way to stay high and dry in this particular incarnation.