land of room enough, and time
Jan. 20th, 2006 03:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7I don't even know what that phrase is from, but there it is, in my head.
I was going to Shopping today. I haven't yet. I still might, but don't have much time. What did I do instead?
I wrote more novel, which is nice, but I don't feel I'm making narrative progress. The whole thing will need a rewrite, which is a devastating thought to have as you're writing it-- but oh well. I'll do what I can.
Then I did laundry, which involved bailing the drained water from the washer into another drain. First I used the plumbing snake to explore the backed-up drain-- it is the drain from the kitchen sink as well as the washing machine, so it backs up when I do dishes, wash my hands, run the dishwasher, drain the pasta... at this point, the drain is constantly full, and so any quantity of liquid poured down it will puddle in the basement. It drains at a speed of about an inch an hour, if that.
I stuck the plumbing snake blindly into the muddy standing water, and shoved it along until it hit an obstacle, whereupon I twisted it around and did all sorts of purposeful, nay, forceful things with it, to no avail. I then discovered that it could go either straight sideways for two feet, or straight down for two feet-- and I don't know which one of those is the actual exit pipe, and which one is just, I dunno, there. Me, I know sweet fuck-all about plumbing, except that maybe a stiff metal spring with claws on the end might work to unblock something, so I kind of flailed around in the filthy stinking mud for a while and then gave up, utterly baffled. I've no idea what the deal is, there. This saddens me deeply.
Anyhow, I got the laundry done, and the basement is uninhabitable for the next like three hours while it drains, I guess. I have resigned myself, and also have done all the bailing-out I can stand to do.
I then cleaned the bathroom. This would be no big deal, it being a tiny bathroom, except that it had not been so much as tidied in about six months. I got a kitchen scrubber and some dish soap, because the "tile cleaner" wasn't doing bloody anything, and scrubbed the everloving hell out of the shower tiles and the floor of the bathtub. The bathtub drain then proceeded to break. Now, it's been troublesome since we moved in-- it's activated by a lever, which when pointing down is open, and pointing up is closed. It likes to point up. You have to hold it very carefully, and release it very gently, or it will slowly slide until it clunks violently closed.
Today it will no longer stay open no matter HOW gently you release it. I am going to have to resort to duct tape, or holding it open with my toe during the entirety of every shower.
Then I cleaned the floor, which was easy enough, and nothing broke, for which I was grateful. But then I cleaned the sink and counter, and while that worked all right, I realized that Dave had broken the plug last time he shaved, and using a flashlight I ascertained that indeed, it is entirely broken. The little thing inside the drain no longer exists-- it's snapped clean off.
SIGHHHHH.
Why is everything BROKEN now that I'm at home? Now that I'm the one who Has Time and thus must fix it? I will never, ever, ever, ever finish a novel, at this rate.
And oh, our microwave died. Now that I'm not making much money and thus am trying to live more cheaply, everything at once needs to be replaced. Please, knock on wood, that something doesn't happen that's yet more expensive. (*Makes ward against evil toward car*)
We won't mention the snowblower, or the fact that the automatic garage door opener doesn't work in the slightest bit, and we've already received one citation from the police for having an open garage door. Sorry, assholes: It doesn't close. Bite me. Where I'm from, garages don't even have doors. You're lucky if they have roofs. And nobody kicks up a fuss about that. Suburbia can kiss my pasty, flabby ass. Make that my bikini-clad pasty, flabby ass. I'm-a going to take to gardening in a thong bikini, with my hair in rollers, no makeup on except bright pink lipstick, and a pair of scuzzy pink slippers on my feet. I know my roots, baby.
Think I also need to get me a hound dog to tie outside, with a lopsided cardboard box for his house.
In other news I did more ab exercises today and am convinced they're only getting flabbier. Terrifying!
I was going to Shopping today. I haven't yet. I still might, but don't have much time. What did I do instead?
I wrote more novel, which is nice, but I don't feel I'm making narrative progress. The whole thing will need a rewrite, which is a devastating thought to have as you're writing it-- but oh well. I'll do what I can.
Then I did laundry, which involved bailing the drained water from the washer into another drain. First I used the plumbing snake to explore the backed-up drain-- it is the drain from the kitchen sink as well as the washing machine, so it backs up when I do dishes, wash my hands, run the dishwasher, drain the pasta... at this point, the drain is constantly full, and so any quantity of liquid poured down it will puddle in the basement. It drains at a speed of about an inch an hour, if that.
I stuck the plumbing snake blindly into the muddy standing water, and shoved it along until it hit an obstacle, whereupon I twisted it around and did all sorts of purposeful, nay, forceful things with it, to no avail. I then discovered that it could go either straight sideways for two feet, or straight down for two feet-- and I don't know which one of those is the actual exit pipe, and which one is just, I dunno, there. Me, I know sweet fuck-all about plumbing, except that maybe a stiff metal spring with claws on the end might work to unblock something, so I kind of flailed around in the filthy stinking mud for a while and then gave up, utterly baffled. I've no idea what the deal is, there. This saddens me deeply.
Anyhow, I got the laundry done, and the basement is uninhabitable for the next like three hours while it drains, I guess. I have resigned myself, and also have done all the bailing-out I can stand to do.
I then cleaned the bathroom. This would be no big deal, it being a tiny bathroom, except that it had not been so much as tidied in about six months. I got a kitchen scrubber and some dish soap, because the "tile cleaner" wasn't doing bloody anything, and scrubbed the everloving hell out of the shower tiles and the floor of the bathtub. The bathtub drain then proceeded to break. Now, it's been troublesome since we moved in-- it's activated by a lever, which when pointing down is open, and pointing up is closed. It likes to point up. You have to hold it very carefully, and release it very gently, or it will slowly slide until it clunks violently closed.
Today it will no longer stay open no matter HOW gently you release it. I am going to have to resort to duct tape, or holding it open with my toe during the entirety of every shower.
Then I cleaned the floor, which was easy enough, and nothing broke, for which I was grateful. But then I cleaned the sink and counter, and while that worked all right, I realized that Dave had broken the plug last time he shaved, and using a flashlight I ascertained that indeed, it is entirely broken. The little thing inside the drain no longer exists-- it's snapped clean off.
SIGHHHHH.
Why is everything BROKEN now that I'm at home? Now that I'm the one who Has Time and thus must fix it? I will never, ever, ever, ever finish a novel, at this rate.
And oh, our microwave died. Now that I'm not making much money and thus am trying to live more cheaply, everything at once needs to be replaced. Please, knock on wood, that something doesn't happen that's yet more expensive. (*Makes ward against evil toward car*)
We won't mention the snowblower, or the fact that the automatic garage door opener doesn't work in the slightest bit, and we've already received one citation from the police for having an open garage door. Sorry, assholes: It doesn't close. Bite me. Where I'm from, garages don't even have doors. You're lucky if they have roofs. And nobody kicks up a fuss about that. Suburbia can kiss my pasty, flabby ass. Make that my bikini-clad pasty, flabby ass. I'm-a going to take to gardening in a thong bikini, with my hair in rollers, no makeup on except bright pink lipstick, and a pair of scuzzy pink slippers on my feet. I know my roots, baby.
Think I also need to get me a hound dog to tie outside, with a lopsided cardboard box for his house.
In other news I did more ab exercises today and am convinced they're only getting flabbier. Terrifying!
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?hamlet
Date: 2006-01-20 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-21 08:59 am (UTC)*waves*
Hi, by the way. I don't think I've ever commented here before, but I *do* read you. :-)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-21 02:27 pm (UTC)I think there was something else I'm thinking of, though, something that was probably an homage to that. But I'll never know, because Google won't tell me and my memory is for shit.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-21 05:35 pm (UTC)Yes, I know I've seen - recently, and somewhere around my LJ f-list, I'm sure - another variation on that line; it struck me at the time of reading, but of course now I don't remember where I saw it, either. Possibly in