|
Saturday, February 05, 2005 This morning, 5 a.m.: me, awake, my body prodding me to make the hike to the bathroom for a bit of early-hour relief. I do so, and when I flush, the toilet backs up, the bowl fills. I pick up the plumber's helper, conveniently on hand for occasions like this one, then notice that the toilet has continued running, the water level is rising closer and closer to the rim of the bowl. To the point that plunging the PH into the water will cause an overflow. I stare, one hand reaching out to jiggle the handle, the possibility of disaster penetrating my wee-hour mental fog, at which point the bowl actually brims over, water streaming down the porcelain to the floor. My brain, momentarily paralyzed from shock and disbelief, finally shifts into gear, I find myself sprinting downstairs where I grab a spongemop, race back upstairs and frantically attempt damage control, spewing obscenities and laughing simultaneously, grateful that this episode is not being captured on video. (No, it did not occur to me to shut off the water right then. I was barely awake, okay?) The toilet blockage spontaneously clears itself, the tank fills up, no more water flows out, leaving me with a puddle covering a third of the floor. I clean it up, stopping to peel off my socks, which have unfortunately become contaminated with toxic fluids. Some time later, I drop back into bed and surprise myself by drifting quickly off to sleep, my system apparently shrugging off the recent excitement, my heartrate and adrenaline levels returning to normal. I drag myself out of bed around 7:30 to get the stove going, pass the bathroom on the way downstairs, see everything in there looking placid, normal, as if it hadn't ambused me in hair-raising fashion just a short time earlier. This life of ours: thrills and perverse entertainment lay in wait around every corner. Madrid, te echo de menos. rws 1:29 PM [+]
Comments:
Post a Comment
|