A Little Story

It’s rare for me nowadays to have much time to myself, but when it does happen, being alone with my own thoughts is either therapeutic or a slowly unfolding disaster, there is no in-between.

So here’s a little story:

At midnight on New Years Eve Day, my home flooded due to the electric company digging directly into a main water pipe. Nice job, guys.

Chaos ensued. My 26-year-old neighbor/son I never knew I wanted was a fucking lifesaver. He held me together, he talked me down, he spent $70 at Wal-Mart to buy a 6 gallon wet vac that didn’t even come close to keeping up with the amount of liquid rushing into my living room. We all finally gave up the fight. I had my 21-year-old daughter take our two dogs up to her room at 3am and I slept on my neighbors couch (ah, because of that fear of mine of being alone).

My boyfriend came over after reading my slew of messages and the photos that I had sent to him. He went to take a gander at my house and then came back over to me. He had tears in his eyes. He was quite sad for ME.

For me. He was crying for me, what the fuck? I am so not used to any man giving much of a shit about anything terrible that happens to me. I hugged him tight, I let him help me. I even somehow managed to stay awake to usher in 2019 with him. He fed me Taco Bell.

I slept 3 hours out of 48. Damn, I was exhausted, but so grateful for all of the help I received cleaning up the carnage.

But alas, I woke up at 4pm New Years Day so depressed and dare I say thinking about suicide again. I am so tired of that fucker, sincerely. I mean, for fuck sake already, give it a rest, brain chemicals.

My daughter took me out to dinner and insisted that I order an alcoholic beverage.

The utility director came to my house yesterday to personally hand me a check for $5,500.00. I lost my dryer, my dishwasher, all of my living room carpet, a bookcase, a throw-rug, a few blankets and towels.

And to compensate me for what he called an “inconvenience fee.”

More like a 72 hour panic attack, dude.

It’s traumatic watching water (thankfully not sewer water) filling your home and coming at you like a wrecking ball. The money is nice and all (I am still in a bit of shock over having that sort of cash in my checking account) but to be honest, I am not even sure where to start.

A dryer is important. That is first, I don’t want to run out of underwear.

I suck at making decisions, I am also a master at procrastination. I suppose that it’ll all come out in the wash somehow.