A good friend of mine once told me that rain is good for the soul, because it washes away everything old and bad, allowing a clean start.
I must be needing a new beginning. Rain is showing up in unexpected places.
For about a year now, whenever it rains outside, it also rains in my car. I think it is getting in the back window since I have an old soft-top convertible, and it collects where the top folds down. If it rains too much, that overflows, and somehow my back floorboards get wet (but the seats and the front are fine). This is annoying, but I can live with it. I don't put my briefcase on the backseat floor (and I yell at car visitors who try to do so with theirs), I put beach towels in the back window and pull them out sopping wet, and I have gotten semi-used to the smell of mildew.
What I can't live with?
Rain in my BEDROOM. That's right. About a week and a half ago, I was still in bed with Henry while Grant was in the shower, and suddenly I was getting sprinkled. I thought Henry was peeing on me - MAN WAS HE GOING TO GET IN TROUBLE - but then I realized that he also looked confused. And the entire bed was getting wet. And so was the dresser. And so were the walls and the floor. What. The. Hell? I jumped out of bed, ran to the bathroom, and yelled at Grant to turn off the water. He couldn't hear me, so I tried the door... locked. I yell at him even louder TO TURN OFF THE WATER. He thinks I'm yelling at him to turn off the water so he can hear me - not because Noah could build an ark in our bedroom - so he yells back that he is still soapy, and he'll be out in a minute. I don't want to think what the down comforter would look like in a minute. I yell at my loudest (you're welcome, neighbors!) that it is raining in our room, and that a pipe must have burst. He turns off the water.
I start mopping up, with Henry at my heels, saying a few choice words. Grant dries himself off, and much to my shock, gets dressed before coming to help. In his defense, he thought there was just water on the floor, not covering everything -- including me -- in the room.
After a small hole in the wall, then a bigger hole, then covering it with a picture for my mom's visit, not showering for a few days (but baths were fine), then having a plumber come out, cutting out an even bigger hole - we found out that the soft pipe for the shower had been cut clean in half. It must have happened when the contractors put up new sheet rock before we moved in, and ever since then, when someone took a shower, the water sprayed inside the wall, eroding it away, little by little. This makes me think of the escape in the Shawshank Redemption.
Then, because the universe loves me, it succeeded in making a hole and creating a sprinkler system in my bedroom the day my mom arrives for a visit.
We had just rearranged the room, and I loved being in there, but now I'm back to hating it. My dresser is in the other bedroom. There is a big hole on my wall. When we wanted to watch TV, we put it on the ironing board until that bent the metal.
How depressing is this image? That's my bedroom, folks. I'm waiting for the clean start part.
(Also, George Bush is letting us know that the economy isn't so bad. At a 10:20am news conference, shocking scheduled at the same time as the Fed Chairman is telling Congress that the economy is pretty bad and not gonna get better anytime soon. That's even more depressing.)
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