I HATE THIS HOUSE & I HATE MY LIFE

Drip, drip, drip.

I'm sleeping on the couch tonight. I'm sleeping on the couch, because the kitchen sink is clogged. What, that doesn't make sense? Well, here on Chicago Avenue, nothing makes sense. Nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

The sink is clogged, the dishwasher flooded. I tried to clean, as mentioned in the pre-second-flood post tonight; I put the soap in the dishwasher and turned it on. Then, like the responsible adult I am, I paid my bills, talked to the Good Doctor, and called it a night. But when I went into the kitchen, there were soap bubbles all over the floor--smelly soap bubbles, so I threw some towels down and figured I'd deal tomorrow.

Went to bedroom. Noticed a tiny wet spot on the white rug outside bedroom, the rug that is there now because it got destroyed in the flood of November 2007. Wrote it off. It's late and time for bed.

Laid in bed, all cuddled up with Musicophilia.

Drip. Drip-drip. Drip.

There is water dripping on the pile of books, next to my bed. Also, the Fender is there, and it's wet. Again. The Fender seems to always be the first victim. I soak up the water--it's just a tiny bit. I go out to the laundry room.

Below where the dishwasher is upstairs: drip-drip-drip-drip-dripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdrip!!!!!! Drip-drip-drip-you-suck-Jean-ha-ha-ha! This is what you get for cheating during Lent! You cheated! You were really hungry today and all you had was that candy from V day and you ate it! Sinner.

All of the water is falling behind the water heater. I can't get to it. This is the evil spot of the house, the black hole of this hell hole. This is where the water puddles, behind this water heater, and nobody can wipe it up, and because nobody can wipe it up, it seeps through the wall and into my room. This is what happened when the water heater broke. This is what appears to be happening now.

It sounds like it's raining in the house. It's not that much water, but the dripping. It's spring here. It's spring, and the creek is babbling and it's babbling in my fucking basement. And the icicles are melting and they're dripping and the water smells, like it always does. All old smelling.

I'm grateful that the water didn't drip onto my bed. I'm grateful that there isn't dirty dishwater plopping onto my mattress and onto my expensive, new, chocolate brown sheets. I'm grateful for that.

BUT I STILL DON'T THINK I CAN FUCKING DEAL WITH THIS I HATE MONDAYS AND OH MY GOSH ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME THAT THIS HAPPENED.