Tuesday, August 26, 2008

I can't get to sleep...

Our hot water heater ran out of oil two days before I left. We figured out that's what the problem was the next day, but I was too busy getting ready to leave to do anything about it. I offered to schedule it if anyone would tell me a good time. no one did.

A week later someone started rounding up the money. By time I came back, I expected it would all be settled. Disappointed. The tank had been filler, but it had been a few days and no one knew how to light the pilot light. I came home to cold showers.

This morning I woke up and started complaining. I was pissed that I had to pay 80 dollars for oil I'll never use, and I still can't take a damn shower. I started cleaning to sooth my anxiety about it. The fridge smelled, and I didn't know why. I usually clean it out every three or four days, but I had been gone for a while. SO I started to unload things that looked too familiar. I wanted to clean out the veggie drawer before p
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utting my vegetable in because its gross to store food in a dirty space. Then I saw brownish water in the space beneath the drawer and the bottom of the fridge. I took them out to wipe it up and saw mold floating in it. I gagged as I sopped it up, freezing cold with a towel I had found wadded up on the floor. This place was disgusting.

I spent the better part of an hour muddling around with the furnace down stairs to no avail. I grumbled under my breath as I moved bags of clutter out of the way to find the tools to work on it. When I finished, my pants were stained and my hands reeked of oil. I couldn't believe some people had lived here for a year and didn't know how to do this damnit.

I went on the porch to update people on the situation and hint that someone else needed to pick up where I left off. My room mate's cigarette smoke rolled into my space. I coughed a little and then went inside.

As I lay in bed on the edge of sleep, I'm unable to go under. I'm kept awake by the smell of oil mingled with stale cigarette smoke, by annoyance translated into compulsion and neurosis, by the insistence that others have wronged me. I'm going to bed disappointed, critical and alone. I'm going to bed the same way my mother went to bed for the last 20 years, and I can't get to sleep because I'm a little scare of how I'll wake up when I'm through.

1 comment:

Dane said...

If there were a way to do this tenderly, with all the sweetness you deserve, I would. But sometimes, there ain't, and so instead I'm giving you a virtual kick in the pants:


By which I do not mean glare at your housemates and give tales of your exploits amongst their filth. I mean GET BITCHY. I mean go hunt down J, P, J and whoever else lives there at the moment and tell them that you are NOT paying for that oil until one of THEM lights the damn light.

That said, I love you and life is crazy stupid, especially electoral politics. And I know I shouldn't yell at you over public internet, and I'm doing it anyway, because if I can declare love that way, I sure as fuck should be able to yell that way.


I also want that you should ask for some help from someone who can actually give it. Like maybe your landlord? Or google?

This is not to say stop kvetching. As I told Paulina when we were in the hospital, you can kvetch as much as you want and I will listen and not get mad at you. Doctors and housemates, however, are a different story.

Time to go cook with the cousins.