MarLa Sink Druzgal

I’m sitting here typing during what has to be one of the worst premature atrial contraction attacks in a long while. Basically, that just means I’m in the middle of a shit-ton of extra heartbeats that pretty much drive me bonkers and make me feel like I’m going to die. (I am not going to die – at least not from PAC’s, but we’ll talk about that in a moment.)

I have had way to much caffeine today…and yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that…

I’m not supposed to have caffeine at all. Because of the PAC’s and rosacea, and IBS, and lately because of the life-induced anxiety. But like I keep joking about (although really, it becomes less funny each time I say it) I’m addicted: to caffeine, to sugar, to emotional eating. I’m also lactose intolerant so I’m not supposed to have dairy, which is annoying since soy makes me break out. I’m not a huge dairy nut, but I like my daily yogurt! There are also a few “mystery ingredients” which make me break out in hives but I don’t get allergy tested because I’m one of those paranoids who believes that if I know what my allergies are, I will suddenly have symptoms where I didn’t before. 😉

I’m working on the food and caffeine addiction issues. The rest of it I’m in the same camp as my mother-in-law: “Allergies are a bunch of crap.” (Of course, when you have IBS, everything is a bunch of crap.) But that’s actually not what today’s post is about…sort of.

Because of recent problems at the house, we had to withdraw five digits and change from our escrow account (an account that was for a very important personal life-changing event. This is the last year we are able to make this event happen, and we now have to say goodbye to it, and I’m kinda’ broken right now, which has made me a rollercoaster of emotion.

Strangely though, I seem to have reached a weird level of hysteria today, where everything seems absurdly funny.

This whole situation has become a farce. Let’s take a look at that word, shall we? Because if ever there were a real-life farcical situation, this is becoming one (make sure you read it, and compare with everything that happens below!):

Farce (Wikitardia definition): In theatre, a farce is a comedy that aims at entertaining the audience by means of unlikely, extravagant, and improbable situations, disguise and mistaken identity, verbal humor of varying degrees of sophistication, which may include word play, and a fast-paced plot whose speed usually increases, culminating in an ending which often involves an elaborate chase scene. Farces are often highly incomprehensible plot-wise (due to the large number of plot twists and random events that often occur), but viewers are encouraged not to try to follow the plot in order to avoid becoming confused and overwhelmed. Farce is also characterized by physical humor, the use of deliberate absurdity or nonsense, and broadly stylized performances. Farces have been written for the stage and film.

Today they began digging the trench to replace the broken gas line. I told you that last week our gas line broken, which is about 1/8 of a mile long from the meter uphill to the house. It left us with no furnace, no oven/stove, no hot water and no dryer. 

“Well,” I told Kurt, “at least I can still cook you a good dinner in the microwave.”

Then the microwave broke.

“At least,” Kurt said, “we can still get baths by heating water in the teakettle and on the hotplate, then pouring them into the bathtub.”

Then we realized the bathtub had a slow leak we hadn’t noticed before, each pot dumped in draining before another could be heated.

I had an appointment in Pittsburgh today, and as I left the house, the first of the workmen arrived to begin digging the trench. I soon received a text from Kurt saying “The good news…I know where the sewer line runs. The bad news is they broke it. And by the way, we have a concrete slab in front of the garage that was buried under all the gravel…You better go to the bathroom on the way home.”

No toilet!?!?!?!?

Well, I don’t know about you, but when I’m told there is no option for a bathroom, I suddenly have to go Number Two, and that’s without taking into consideration my IBS. My sphincter puckered immediately upon reading his text, but the thought of public deucing is just not one I like to consider.

I managed to put the thoughts of that out of my mind as I finished my errands and headed home. I parked at the bottom of our driveway, after having to get the coils of piping moved from the parking spot Kurt dug out for me (which the workers apparently decided was cleared for them to stack anything and everything.

As I walked up the hill I met Freddie, the Bobcat operator, who is very nice, but a little too chatty, taking his time breaking, talking and grinning as he gleefully digs away at anything and everything in the course of digging this line.

The items Freddie and his buddy (who’s a little too scary to photograph or name, although it rhymes with Schmarry and begins with an “L”) have dug up include an electrical line (it was tested dead but nobody knows where or what it feeds, so this may be a new development to watch), our sewer line, and our graywater lines.

Kurt calls them “Mutt and Jeff.” Of course, I laugh, because Kurt’s parents call us Mutt and Jeff.

This means in addition to no furnace, no oven, no hot water and not dryer, we now cannot run any water or flush the toilet. Since we have space heaters in the bathroom because we have no alternative heat, it means you really don’t want to use the bathroom without flushing because deuce plus heat = RUN AWAY!

Schmarry promised to replace the sewer line today so that we can use the toilet, but so far it’s a no-go.

Kurt put signs on the toilets saying “DO NOT USE!” just in case we forget.

“Because” he warned me, “if we flush, Schmarry, who is waist deep in the trench, will suddenly find himself on the receiving end of a very unwanted present.”

Poop on Schmarry?  Poor Schmarry. Schmarry is scary, but I wouldn’t even wish that on “Schmush Schmimbaugh” (and I can’t stand Schmush Schmimbaugh).

So in addition to Kurt’s note on the toilet seat, I duct-taped the flush-handle so that if (who am I kidding, when) I go, I don’t accidentally send that creepy gift to Schmarry.

Of course, Kurt came back in and said there is now some young guy in the ditch digging, so Schmarry wouldn’t even be the recipient anymore. I said “What happened to Schmarry?” He said “He’s now down helping f*ck up the lower yard.”

We have been chuckling and making Mutt & Jeff jokes all afternoon in an effort to hide our very serious concern over what’s actually happening outside.

On Facebook I made a comment that I think between this and a few other “unlucky” circumstances on us lately that I haven’t told (and won’t tell) you about, if I were superstitious I would think somebody put the mad mojo on me! I said I was a little worried about my upcoming trip to California and that maybe I should surround myself in bubblewrap before I travel.

Then I said “Seriously this all has really become this awesome, cosmic farce and it will not surprise me if that inbound asteroid decides not to pass earth and instead lands on my head. Wow. What an awesome way to go. Death…by Asteroid.”

And at least it’s better than death by standing in a ditch while somebody forgets they aren’t allowed to flush. Poor Schmarry.

Well, I suppose all that’s left wanting in this farce is an elaborate chase scene. I’m not sure if that will be Schmarry chasing me around for forgetting, in my IBS-induced doubling over, that I’m not allowed to flush. Or maybe it will be me chasing my Amtrak train down the tracks as I arrive late due to some yet unmasked circumstance.

Or maybe it just be me chasing the dreams that our escrow account were meant for, because I’m not quite ready to let them go.

Folks, my life is really wonderful, and while I appreciate that you let me vent and complain and work through my frustrations on the blog, there are people who would not even have an escrow to pull from and would have to go without a gas line.

I think about all the ways this situation could have been worse. We are so lucky that we were even able to consider that escrow’d dream in the first place, and we are lucky that this gas line inconvenience and all its related pipe breakages are something we can afford to replace.

And I feel so lucky because a friend of mine from California sent me a small space heater which I have kept next to me continuously, and because a neighbor brought me over a load of wood this week because I wasn’t burning any since we’re about out and I wanted to leave our remaining stash for Kurt to use while I’m gone.

There are people who genuinely need help with their heat, and I’d like to leave you with the website for Dollar Energy Fund, where you can give a little, or a lot: https://www.dollarenergy.org/checkthebox/Online.aspx

In the meantime, I’m calling today a “win.” I did not poop on Schmarry’s head, no death by asteroid (yet) and I’m just waiting for the chase scene to begin.

Love, Marla

P.S. For my fitness pals: weights and cardio going much better than food and caffeine. I’m refusing to be hard on myself until I’m a little beyond the escrow-induced crisis mode I’m currently in.