Butters has been looking forward to this day for some time, carrying out a multitude of tasks like washing sheets and sweeping and mopping floors, all while murmuring, “I am a man – a big, strong man.”
The Congo affects each of us in different ways.
As I sat eating dinner in the light of my cellphone, with my hair dripping cold water into my eyes and down my back, I heard scuttling noises in the ceiling.
Id: HA! AHA! AHA-HA-HA!
Ego: What now.
Id: Rats! In the ceiling! I win!
Ego: Why are you happy about this?
Id: They'll fall into our porridge. THAT'LL SHOW 'EM!
Ego: The rats?
Id: No! Carrottop and Captain and Grandpa and THE WORLD.
Ego: We have moved in. We are never moving somewhere you'll like better. This is your life for the next year. Get used to it.
Id:
The Congo affects each of us in different ways.
On Monday, for the 6.5th time since February 21st 2016, I moved all my DRC-ly belongings and settled down somewhere new.
I have been helped each time by kind, helpful people with their skills, their vehicles, and their time. And each time (except for the 5.5th) I have wanted to chew off my own arm. Grandpa and Butters moved our large furniture and appliances and set up bed frames, tables, and mosquito nets throughout the day; I got home from work and slowly started dragging my belongings up 4 short, steep flights of very uneven stairs while our neighbours and builders below watched in amusement (Mrs. Third Floor tried to help). Grandpa, busy drilling something, but being a dairy farmer at heart, decided to grab the bull by the horns.
Grandpa: Hey! How's it going today?
Id: Withering sarcasm, I choose you!
Ego: NN--
Superego: --OO!!
Me: It just keeps getting better and better.
Ego: But we love Grandpa!
Id: As Butters would say: Sucks to suck.
I later apologised and promised I would give myself a time-out in the corner; Grandpa blessed me as he is wont to do – partially to share Jesus' love and partially to aggravate people, I swear to Good.
After moving all the contents of my master bedroom into a smaller room (which I love – Butters kindly took Sunny Solitary Confinement) with a view (of our alley), we set ourselves to redecorating, shopping for dinner, and heating water for baths. There was water all evening, and I felt obliged to publicly justify myself: I would love if I were wrong about our water situation. I would be more than happy to admit that I was wrong, and accept that moving to the 4th floor was the best option.
Id: I'd rather chew off my own arm.
Ego: Shhhh...
I still refute the idea that 'every room is bigger' (patently untrue as I have still not received my letter to Hogwarts, much less bought accommodations for an international Quidditch match) and 'we must all wax orgasmic over this apartment' (puh-leeze). However, our builder was stone-cold sober while designing our ceiling (I'll post pictures soon) and we have some measure of control over our water situation – this is all I will commit to at this time. Butters also took the initiative to fill up some of our water reserve, which delighted me so much that I almost hugged him before returning to my senses.
Halfway through heating my second bucket of water to wash my hair, the power cut out – unusual for that hour. After waiting some time – a pleasant interlude in which the one small towel rack came off into my arms (and nearly into the toilet – pyjamas and towel included) – I decided to bite the bullet and shower in the dark.
I saved one bucket of warm water for Butters but, thwarting my constant attempts to love him, he opted to wait for hot water.
I have been helped each time by kind, helpful people with their skills, their vehicles, and their time. And each time (except for the 5.5th) I have wanted to chew off my own arm. Grandpa and Butters moved our large furniture and appliances and set up bed frames, tables, and mosquito nets throughout the day; I got home from work and slowly started dragging my belongings up 4 short, steep flights of very uneven stairs while our neighbours and builders below watched in amusement (Mrs. Third Floor tried to help). Grandpa, busy drilling something, but being a dairy farmer at heart, decided to grab the bull by the horns.
Grandpa: Hey! How's it going today?
Id: Withering sarcasm, I choose you!
Ego: NN--
Superego: --OO!!
Me: It just keeps getting better and better.
Ego: But we love Grandpa!
Id: As Butters would say: Sucks to suck.
I later apologised and promised I would give myself a time-out in the corner; Grandpa blessed me as he is wont to do – partially to share Jesus' love and partially to aggravate people, I swear to Good.
After moving all the contents of my master bedroom into a smaller room (which I love – Butters kindly took Sunny Solitary Confinement) with a view (of our alley), we set ourselves to redecorating, shopping for dinner, and heating water for baths. There was water all evening, and I felt obliged to publicly justify myself: I would love if I were wrong about our water situation. I would be more than happy to admit that I was wrong, and accept that moving to the 4th floor was the best option.
Id: I'd rather chew off my own arm.
Ego: Shhhh...
I still refute the idea that 'every room is bigger' (patently untrue as I have still not received my letter to Hogwarts, much less bought accommodations for an international Quidditch match) and 'we must all wax orgasmic over this apartment' (puh-leeze). However, our builder was stone-cold sober while designing our ceiling (I'll post pictures soon) and we have some measure of control over our water situation – this is all I will commit to at this time. Butters also took the initiative to fill up some of our water reserve, which delighted me so much that I almost hugged him before returning to my senses.
Halfway through heating my second bucket of water to wash my hair, the power cut out – unusual for that hour. After waiting some time – a pleasant interlude in which the one small towel rack came off into my arms (and nearly into the toilet – pyjamas and towel included) – I decided to bite the bullet and shower in the dark.
I saved one bucket of warm water for Butters but, thwarting my constant attempts to love him, he opted to wait for hot water.
As I sat eating dinner in the light of my cellphone, with my hair dripping cold water into my eyes and down my back, I heard scuttling noises in the ceiling.
Id: HA! AHA! AHA-HA-HA!
Ego: What now.
Id: Rats! In the ceiling! I win!
Ego: Why are you happy about this?
Id: They'll fall into our porridge. THAT'LL SHOW 'EM!
Ego: The rats?
Id: No! Carrottop and Captain and Grandpa and THE WORLD.
Ego: We have moved in. We are never moving somewhere you'll like better. This is your life for the next year. Get used to it.
Id:
Ego: This was not the time to go cold turkey on peanut butter. Is there a place that sells heroin at this time of night?
Superego: Shut up, will you? I'm thinking about feminism.
It turned out to be a trapped dragonfly or moth or something. Er, thank goodness. But the war raging within only worsened as the night progressed.
Ego: Hey, we know feminism is important, but could you not do the Thing?
Superego: What Thing?
Ego: The Thing where you stay up all night because we've moved a couple of feet and you can't handle it.
Superego: I owe you nothing, you patriarchal oppressor.
Superego: Shut up, will you? I'm thinking about feminism.
It turned out to be a trapped dragonfly or moth or something. Er, thank goodness. But the war raging within only worsened as the night progressed.
Ego: Hey, we know feminism is important, but could you not do the Thing?
Superego: What Thing?
Ego: The Thing where you stay up all night because we've moved a couple of feet and you can't handle it.
Superego: I owe you nothing, you patriarchal oppressor.
Id: Yay - good talk, team!
Sleep came from 11pm to 1am. Then...
Me: I'm dying. What's happening.
Balrog: It's just me, riverdancing on your tailbone. Sauron is on your knees, and a couple of orcs are handling your ankles.
Me: But you're not scheduled for another two weeks!
Balrog: Oh, I'm still booked for our monthly gig. This is a special because you're old and you can't climb uneven stairs with piles of luggage and boxes of canned food and bottled water.
Me: Gee, last minute and everything - thanks.
Balrog: No sweat. Do you like my stilettos?
So for the next 4 hours, I lay awake listening to water trickle from somewhere and imagining the worst.
Id: Butters left the pipes open and someone left their tap open and now we'll have no water for the next MONTH!
Ego: You know, I keep feeling like you're happy about this.
Id: ...No.
Ego: Because then you'd be right and everyone else would be wrong.
Id: ...How dare you.
Ego: Just remember that if we have no water, we're not washing our hair. Or our sheets.
Id: You're a monster.
Ego: You're a sinner.
Id: On the plus side, our OCD is under control – we're not getting up to obsessively check the tank!
Ego: Go us!
Superego: You're both idiots. The only reason you're not getting up is because you don't know how to shut the pipes anyway and you're afraid you'll make things worse. Also, you currently have the range of motion of a quadriplegic turtle.
Id and Ego: You're a monster.
One joy through all this is that Timbit has books. Lots and lots of books. They look new and some of them are fiction and I will hold them in my hands and turn their pages.
Id: Still don't think it was worth it.
Sleep came from 11pm to 1am. Then...
Me: I'm dying. What's happening.
Balrog: It's just me, riverdancing on your tailbone. Sauron is on your knees, and a couple of orcs are handling your ankles.
Me: But you're not scheduled for another two weeks!
Balrog: Oh, I'm still booked for our monthly gig. This is a special because you're old and you can't climb uneven stairs with piles of luggage and boxes of canned food and bottled water.
Me: Gee, last minute and everything - thanks.
Balrog: No sweat. Do you like my stilettos?
So for the next 4 hours, I lay awake listening to water trickle from somewhere and imagining the worst.
Id: Butters left the pipes open and someone left their tap open and now we'll have no water for the next MONTH!
Ego: You know, I keep feeling like you're happy about this.
Id: ...No.
Ego: Because then you'd be right and everyone else would be wrong.
Id: ...How dare you.
Ego: Just remember that if we have no water, we're not washing our hair. Or our sheets.
Id: You're a monster.
Ego: You're a sinner.
Id: On the plus side, our OCD is under control – we're not getting up to obsessively check the tank!
Ego: Go us!
Superego: You're both idiots. The only reason you're not getting up is because you don't know how to shut the pipes anyway and you're afraid you'll make things worse. Also, you currently have the range of motion of a quadriplegic turtle.
Id and Ego: You're a monster.
One joy through all this is that Timbit has books. Lots and lots of books. They look new and some of them are fiction and I will hold them in my hands and turn their pages.
Id: Still don't think it was worth it.
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At the risk of sounding desperate - PLEASE WRITE TO ME!