hot water

The water heater gave out this week. I was cycling laundry Monday and noticed a wet spot under the heater. It looked like the bottom had rusted out and was trickling hot water onto the floor. I went out for quotes from the big box stores that night then called the local shops Tuesday morning, one of which I contracted on the spot. It rained all day while they worked in the basement, and somebody clipped their truck driving by out front. Two hours, two grand, and one traffic dispute later the deed was done. I felt in high spirits despite the leaks of water and cash and attributed the mood to having written that morning. Then I felt a growing sense of hyper-vigilance brewing, anxious about something I couldn't put my finger on. I sat to process Tuesday evening after the job was finished and concluded it was Christmas itself. The Christian nationalism, the working class trauma, and the emotionality of the season were all running through my head as I sat there slurping down Christmas movies, hopping from one sweater party to the next while planning my own in my Santa hat and Christmas lights. A friend called out how bare my tree is and pushed me to decorate more. I realized that my brooding boy stubbornness compelled me to respond to that rush of seasonal anxiety with a half-assed trimming of the tree. We can have Christmas, I seemed to think, so long as we signal how much we'd rather not. The perspective was a funny one by then and offered enough motivation to spend Wednesday pulling out the rest of the decor after a dog walk with another friend.

The dogs and I walked again yesterday morning. We spotted several cardinals, a hawk, and a bird I couldn't recognize. We hopped in the bath afterwards where I pulled two ticks off Dany and washed another down the drain. I found one attached to Teemo a few weeks ago that I sent to the lab, which came back negative for everything they tested for. I ordered another test to send in these two, which were unattached. The dogs haven't been wearing repellent lately thinking that the cold air would be enough. I thought my decision to step off the path for a moody picture by a gazebo might have increased our chances of picking up a stowaway then I hoisted responsibility onto the owning class whose decisions changed the climate to support a year-round tick presence and whose demands kindled the emotional need for the occasional moody picture by a gazebo.

Some spots I decorated still looked unfinished so I went out to the dollar store after the bath. As her phone rang the woman before me in line remarked about the frequency with which the caller dials her, and the cashier told me about a friend of hers who drinks alone in his basement and calls her in his stupor to Catholocize and talk about rock and roll. I paid with a gift card a friend gave me and made it home with time to make dinner for me and the dogs before heading out to boro hall for a meeting. I saw a commercial for a hamburger last week that triggered a craving so I had picked up patties while I was out shopping. Once I plated the sandwich I realized the craving was more for the visual of the layers than the food itself and made a second to try to improve. The dogs got a can of wet food mixed into their kibble to stretch what dry food I have left until the new bag arrives today, which I thought was less visually appealing but was apparently more appetizing. On the way to the meeting I stopped at a neighbor's to return the Marley outfit. I chatted with her and her husband, who mentioned his current work selling grave plots. He said he's trying to find somebody to replace him and I thought the IT to Marley to cemetery arc was writing itself.