2003-01-05

I was up at 8:30 this morning doing the dishes. If this is what life on Sundays is like without a hangover, then quite frankly I don�t want any part of it. It disrupts the fundamental order of things.

I�m hating my building right now. There�s something funky going on with the plumbing, and if I know my landlord, I can count on her to promptly identify the problem and take decisive steps to do precisely nothing about it. Taking a shower has become something of an adventure every morning. For some reason, there is no longer anything resembling water pressure, so the immediate sensation is like nothing so much as having someone take a piss on your head. On top of that, if anyone anywhere in the building, or in the surrounding ten blocks, so much as pours themselves a glass of water, the temperature in my shower instantly becomes either scalding hot or freezing cold. So after the requisite yelling of �FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK!� and leaping out of the flaccid stream, I get to fiddle with the taps, which is an exercise in futility � even if I turn the hot water ALL THE WAY OFF, and the cold ALL THE WAY ON, the water will stay hot enough to sanitize surgical instruments until whomever it is decides they�re not thirsty anymore. Or vice versa with the cold. I�m thinking of foregoing showers altogether and just investing in a bulk-sized box of moist towelettes. At the very least, it would save me the indignity of slipping and breaking a hip while performing one of my daily Olympic sprints to the far corner of the shower stall.