Early to bed

I meant to go to bed early. I actually went back to my bedroom to grab my pajamas because I wanted a long, hot shower with steam scented like mangoes, a shower with suds and bubbles and water that ran until the water turned cold and then I'd slather on thick, creamy body butter with hints of plum or moringa or papaya.

The thick fleecy pajamas would follow and a thermal shirt while the flannel sheets beckoned, under the down comforter and soft red blanket, the old cotton comforter and the pair of quilts.

I would read and fall asleep with the light on, but I wouldn’t see it under all those blankets.

I would fall asleep early.

My day wasn't so good. Most of the day, I wanted to cry, and then my computer stopped working. It just wouldn't turn on, and even though I had another computer to use, everything I needed was on that hard drive. And then the day got worse.

"What the ...?" I gasped as I slid through the door of my bedroom, knocking a box off my dresser and breaking glass. "More breakage."

My mind flashed to the friend who'd inspired my tears throughout the day. A second later, I realized that I had slipped in rubber-soled shoes. Under my feet, water ebbed and flowed, feeling the pull of the moon in almost limitless depths.

I flipped on the light to discover that I stood in an inch and a half, almost two inches of water. I looked at the ceiling but it seemed clear; I looked at the walls and thought them relatively dry.

"Snow," I thought and looked through the door leading outside.

My heart sank as the throw rug squished underfoot. I pulled out the ShopVac and sucked gallon after gallon of icy water off my bedroom floor. My fingers numbed holding the hose. My back ached from carrying the base to the bathroom. My heart ached from it all, including the sloppy wet footprints leading down the hall.

An hour and a half, almost two hours later, the dehumidifier ran in the closet. The puddles had shrunk to something I couldn't quite erase and I gave up.

I emailed my landlord about the flooding as well as a handful of issues I brought up 19 months earlier. I inquired about the requested repairs that remained unfixed and the mold I feared was growing in both my closet and lungs. I asked what she planned to do about it.

When I went back to my room 45 minutes later, it was worse than before. I started vacuuming again. For hours I vacuumed. I called the neighbors. I called a plumber. I called WASA.

Apparently, a pipe burst.

I couldn't find the shutoff valve and the ShopVac kept running. I couldn't get the water up as fast as it poured into my closet, my bedroom, my life.

With aching back, I kept vacuuming. Sucking up gallon after gallon of water. My feet, soaked to the bone, froze as did my fingers. And the water kept running.

And running.

And running.

The water keeps running.

I have long since exceeded the statute of limitations for sympathy about my apartment. I'm looking for a new one. I want to move. I also have plans to go to New Orleans (twice), Oregon, Argentina and Jamaica in the next three months and I'm training for a 60-mile walk.

I'm tired.

I just wanted a long, hot shower. I wanted warm, comfy pajamas. I wanted to go to bed early. Now, I just want to cry.

Update 1:04 a.m.

WASA just came and turned off the water. My apartment is trashed. Water, water, everywhere and nary a spot that's clean.

In the morning, I'll have to call my landlord, my neighbors, another plumber. For now, I'm just going to curl up on the couch with the blankets that weren't touching the floor, the ones that aren't wet, and cry.

In the morning, I'll be OK.


Tag: Exhaustion Apartment Washington DC