Sculpin

So, the crawl space flooded and water got into the furnace. I heard a strange sloshing noise and turned it off at the breaker yesterday. It’s said to be a pretty bad idea to turn it on again before a professional has looked at it. But the professionals won’t look at it until the crawl space is dry — fair enough — and with more rain on the way, who’s to say when that will be? So it’s pretty cold around here. And the dead, sour under-the-house dirt has sifted up into the house, making the place smell like death itself. We’ve got some space heaters, and that keeps the house more-or-less inhabitable if not comfortable.

I sure hope that furnace isn’t fried. We bought it less than three years ago.

I am mildly susceptible to cold-induced asthma, and I’m getting over a cold anyway, so there’s some fairly serious coughing going on here, enough that I’ve pulled a lot of intercostal muscles. (Feels like walking pneumonia, but probably isn’t. I’m watching it, though, I assure you.) I am a mess.

Josh did most of the work under the house yesterday, setting up the pump while I trotted around plugging things in and arranging hoses. His back’s all tied up in knots today from all that stooping and rooting around in chilly, foul-smelling mud puddles. He is a mess.

So Josh and I are feeling very sorry for ourselves. I think Peaceflower is right: it’s a cosmic shitstorm out there. Tomorrow I’ll have to get out of this stinking, freezing house and find some way to cheer myself up. Damn!

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