Sitting, waiting on the man. In this morning's case, it is the house repairman. The wall in my shower looked funny. I ran my hand along a seam and pushed. The wall seemed to give. Sickness in the head, heart, and belly. I told a friend who said that it was probably a pinhole leak in the pipe behind the wall. I envision $$$$ leaving me as I suffer through deconstruction and many decisions.
The man was supposed to come yesterday, but cancelled. He was supposed to be here this morning but hasn't shown yet. Meanwhile, if there is a leak. . . .
I don't want to deal.
"In life, you have to do a lot of things you don’t fuckin’ want to do. Many times, that’s what the fuck life is, one vile fucking task after another." (Al Swearengen)
I am, however, more like Merrick in this scene.
It's the psychic damage that takes its toll. Yup, I am like the biggest baby.
My body and mind hurt, so last night I took an Aleve PM. Those motherfuckers work. I slept all night and could barely get up this morning. I suppose it isn't good for me, but what are you going to do. I am woeful.
On the upside, I just downloaded "Blackout: Remembering the Things I Drank to Forget" by Sarah Hepola and "Hunters in the Dark" by Lawrence Osborne just arrived from England. It won't be available in the U.S. until January. So I have some wonderfully despairing things to read the next few weekends. There is that. Maybe I'll learn to use my words again.
I am groggy and late and there still is no repairman. I must shower and get ready for the factory. As Swearengen says, "The world ends when your dead."