To Do Angst

Moving jitters have started setting in already, even though the move date isn't for another 6 weeks. But my living room looks like hell. It's half boxes, and what's not empty boxes is an empty aquarium, piles of filing; my bedroom doesn't look much better. If you've known me for any length of time, you know that flux is not a state I love, mess is not a condition I love, and I actually loathe disorganization.

Also, my generally very responsive landlord very kindly replaced the water heater. File "not bathing in brown water" under "Things I Appreciate --> That Touch My Skin." It was done, however, in an impressive display of miscommunication between tank people, electricians, landlord and tenants. People had hot water when they shouldn't have, then didn't have hot water when they shouldn't have. There were many strange men in my basement and Jennifer's.

On another front my generally very responsive landlord has most indubitably dropped the ball. I have called him one hundred times about fixing my goddamn fucking toilet.

It's not broken broken, I can still flush it, and so it still is firmly filed under "Things I Appreciate --> Hygeine." But it is definitely one broken. I have to turn the water on to fill the tank before I flush it, and then turn the water back off after the flush is done or else the water just runs all the time making this super annoying noise, and making me have to pee all the time.

Okay, yes, I am perfectly capable of doing a lefty-loosey righty-tighty. If I had to, if that were some kind of inherent design with which we'd lived for so long we thought it was the right way to do things, okay. Fine.

But it's not. It's a problem that is not actually a problem because it was solved, lo these many moons ago, by industrial designers, those clever people who made toilets in such a way so as to render them usable without turning them on.

I'll be damned if what gives me carpel fucking tunnel is turning my toilet on.

I shouldn't even have to write that sentence.

You know, I had no idea that when I sat down to write, I was going to rant about my toilet. The joys of blogging. For you, I mean.

Which reminds me, tonight was the first night of Getting Shit Done Around Here. I made appointments, asked for quotes, set up online banking accounts, made and ate an actual dinner.

There's lots of stuff I didn't get to - aquarium stuff mainly, didn't go for a run, didn't get anywhere near doing the piles of clothes in my bedroom. But a few significant time-sensitive things have been crossed of the list.

I'm trying to be okay with all this, to let the angst come and let it go again. Realistically, this crazy bananas systems breakdown is not going to change until I get moved in. The details might - the new tank will get set up, the old one sold, the books sold, the CDs too - but new piles will take their place until I get to a point where I can begin adapting old systems to a new environment.

Not the kind of situation I thrive in, but meh. 'S the way it is. Even with the busted can, I'm still several steps up from surviving.