We haven’t had running water since Friday morning. And it’s annoying. It’s annoying for obvious reasons, I’m sure. But there are other parts of the lack which have contributed to the ugliness in and around me, and I’m not too happy about it. The apartment is dirty and I want to clean it and there is stagnant water sitting in the toilet waiting for a flush. And there is nowhere for it to go or end up or stay as our pipes were severed and capped. I haven’t been dealing with it very well. I have been rather ugly (at times, hostile) towards people (mainly Toby) and it just sort of sucks. I can’t imagine how some people live this way. I NEED clean. I don’t need tidy, I can mess shit up like the best of them. I don’t even mind dirt. Dirt is fine. It’s mildew and mold and stench and old food and rusty water and dust and grime and filth. I can’t take it. Not at all. And I’m having nightmares because of it.
Last night I dreamt about the toilet. I won’t go into details. It’s as if New York City (an already filthy set) has moved home with us. It’s coming through the pipes and the cracks in the floorboards. I can smell its gas coming up from the sink. And if water were here it could help us fight it. The pipes’ throats are bone dry and soar and soon they won’t be able to even whisper for help. And the dirt and all the bugs and the germs will take over and push us out.
I wasn’t going to write about this (as this is something I consider personal) but it’s there (always) on my mind. And I might like to look back on this in a year and see how much it matters then. Am I just too spoiled? Along with zooming in to the microscopic bugs and germs everywhere, I have begun to place my own self under the microscope, and I am becoming horribly hyper-critical and ugly.
Thank goodness, my brother lives a few blocks away. At least our bodies are clean. We do have that.