My world is a flood, slowly I become one with the mud

[electra310]

So it's been a heck of a week around here. Saturday we went out to the library to take back a book that had gotten skipped over in our last haul, and so Mike could get the book for his first-ever doctoral student paper. With my characteristic grace and style, I found an irregular spot in the parking lot and proceeded to fall flat on my face, skinning open my knee and hand, twisting my ankle, wrenching my arm, bopping my head, and busting my glasses. Ouch. I nearly passed out just trying to get home, but avoided doing that or even throwing up. No concussion, I just gave my inner ear a little stir, apparently. Lenscrafters fixed my glasses, and after two days of squeamishly trying to pick splinters and dirt out of my torn-up hand, the nice nurse at Urgent Care fixed that up too.

Interesting note: If you have a torn up hand that's full of dirty mulch, you're kind of screwed as far as doctors go. It's too much of an emergency for a place like the health department, who only does wellness stuff, and it's not enough of an emergency to actually get you in on an emergency basis with a clinic or doctor who's booked for two weeks as far as new patients go. Now if it had actually been infected already, it might have been a different story, as one helpful receptionist quizzed me hopefully about pus and redness before turning me down. Urgent care costs more, but I actually saw a doctor. We'll see what the insurance makes of that.

Then last night, around 8:30, Mike and I were sitting in the living room when we heard what sounded like a faucet turning on in the bathroom. We didn't know what to make of it, except that maybe one of the cats had gotten really creative on playing with the sink. When we looked, though, the water was pouring down from the ceiling, merrily and in great quantity. Turns out the people upstairs left their tub running for about fifteen minutes, and every speck of it drained right down to us. Our bathroom flooded, the hallway, part of the living room, and the corner of the bedroom, all drenched in dirty yellow water. The maintenance guy brought us a blower fan, and the property manager cheerfully assures us that we can go fuck ourselves as regards all the laundry we have to do. So tonight will be a night at the laundromat, trying to wash and dry the entire contents of the linen closet, plus the bathmat. Joy!

Tomorrow I learn whether I passed bar exam. God, please let this be the thing that balances out this shitty week. I won't even care about the towels anymore, I swear!

Comments

[morrigirl.livejournal.com]

The family that lives in the apartment above my mother's includes four children. Back when they were younger these children liked to run the water in the bathtub and let it overflow. As you can imagine, the water always leaked down into my mother's apartment in drops so substantial it looked like it was raining indoors. Not only did it leak down into the bathroom, but also into the ajoining hallway which contained all of the clothes closets. My mother's entire wardrobe was ruined at least once a week.

Since the landlord is a dipshit he never repaired the water damage inflicted on the walls and ceilings, nor did he replace the ancient pipes that were the cause of all the leaks. Even more astounding, the parents of the troublesome children KNEW their kids did this and either never tried or continually failed to prevent them from acting out. It got to the point where my mom just sent the upstairs neighbors her dry-cleaning bill every week. They always paid it.

[electra310.livejournal.com]

In this case, the people upstairs have a pukey baby, and when he puked on a blanket, she put it in the bathtub to rinse it off (but why???). She forgot it was there, for what had to be fifteen minutes, to judge by the amount of water we got in our apartment. At least with that much water, we can figure the baby puke was diluted.