The Universe Hates Me: Part Umpteenth

It all began, as these stories do, on an innocent-seeming Monday morning. Jangling my current-favourite bracelete chains, humming to myself about editing the next chapter of my novel, I walked into my kitchen, ready to pour myself a mug of water.

No water.

The reverse osmosis water tap was empty.

That's when my still-waking-up brain noticed the stream running along the length of my cabinets.

Fantastic. Not.

I mopped up the stream; squinted at all the pipes and lines under the sink but heck if I could see the source of the leak that had sprung overnight and emptied my reverse osmosis unit's tank -- because of course despite me going to the kitchen the previous night close to midnight, the tubing decided to wait until I was fast asleep to crack and let all the water drain all night long. I closed the valves and called the water company that maintains my equipment. I believe in maintainenace from roof to HVAC to water equipment unlike my neighbour who believes in eavestroughs being waterfalls. More on that later.

Anyhoo, so much for maintenance. Now to clean up.

Physical work fatigues me quickly because of my brain injury. My brain refused to compute how much water and mouse shit I had to clean up from the pool in the cabinet under the sink. I bawled at the universe about sending me an angel, realized I didn't have money to pay a human one, masked up and gloved up, and got down to the gross task, using my iWatch to monitor my heart rate. Every time, it got above 150, I sat down. I sat down a lot.

Making decisions, even simple ones like checking the basement underneath the kitchen, process slowly when I'm overwhelmed by the unexpected. So I didn't realize that little water damage upstairs didn't mean none in the basement. By the time the water guy came two days later, spotted the crack immediately (yes, people, my perceptual inabilities exasperates me sometimes), fixed the water tubing, and discussed the age and obsolescence of the material, I'd found the water pooling all over my plastic storage containers and floor underneath the kitchen. At least this water was only dirtied from the accumulated dust between kitchen floor and basement ceiling. (When my ex and I bought the house, we rebuilt the basement from foundation up. So it's a fully finished one. Makes times like these fun. Not.)

From Water Leak to Hot Water

I had already set back my editing schedule by a week -- again, that pesky brain injury and horrid fatigue makes multitasking arduous or impossible -- but the universe was not done with me.

It wanted me to just stop writing already!

The universe banged furiously on my memory banks about legionnella in the hot water tank. I suddenly had an unstoppable urge to look up legionnella breeding in hot water tanks set at 50C like mine and if required to do an anti-legionnella cycle. Heat Geek videos to the rescue. Slow decision-making plus looking up the information plus running the cycle consumed cognitive energy for my novel editing.

The cycle took awhile, but my resentful fury powered me to edit that day.

The next day, I checked my solar power and net metering. Yeah, what I thought. You turn off your AC in August to save energy and increase your net meter credits; then you tank the entire effort by running your hot water tank at 60C for a few hours.

Dentistry Going the Way of Medicine

The next week, I had a rather weird dental appointment. Another new dentist I wasn't expecting. I was due for an annual exam, but my first new dentist wasn't there? Mind you, they'd shown up to my first appointment without knowing a thing about me. It's not like I'm some twenty-something with no dental issues. A brain injury, a stretched cranial nerve, seatbelt injuries equalled a fucking nightmare of a dental history. I really wish the dentist who'd diagnosed why my teeth were rotting and saved them didn't retire from clinical work. I've heard that dental clinics now assign whichever dentist is available to patients. So much for research showing that relationship is the key to best health. I have to say it makes me feel rudderless without trust in the dentist since I don't know them and they don't know me.

Anyway, the new new dentist found a cavity. This is what happens when the Federal Liberal government introduces a Canadian Dental Benefit that costs me more than my negotiated discount rate with the dental clinic combined with losing a generous dentist who'd check my teeth every 4 months with little to no cost to me. Politics already cost me neurorehab, community care, and so much more. Now my teeth are at risk if I can't cough up the money. I'm still reeling from the so-called CDB coverage of my annual exam plus regular cleaning. Why am I getting a bill when I have coverage?!!!!

Anyway, since for whatever reason, local anesthetic doesn't dull pain until they give me so much, my head buzzes and I stagger home alone out-of-it -- which for inexplicable reasons, gives me the willies -- I asked for the new anesthetic-free filling procedure. Over a week later, they were still researching which clinics do laser dentistry for hard tissues aka teeth. In the end, I had to call around. Gee, can't imagine why I'm so tired.

I found one, who spoke to me on the phone, and despite having to travel farther, I feel like I'm dealing with someone I can trust. Crossing fingers!

Water, Water Everywhere, Damage to Repair

Meanwhile, I'd realized my basement drywall had sustained water damage, and I had to get all the old water lines replaced, you know, the ones behind the drywall. Short crying break, here.

I use Homeservice Club of Canada to help me find contractors. They've been in business since WWII, and if service providers screw up, they help you sort it out. You're not alone.

Back and forth with calls; emailed a free quote; emailed back to confirm details; Labour Day weekend interruption, and, oh yeah, my neighbour's waterfall contributing to the deluge into my basement from the so-called century storm Toronto endured -- which we all, except our politicians, know is not a century storm but every couple of years storm due to the Prime Minister and provincial Premiers increasing our emissions and decreasing help with climate action for our nation's good. What a bunch of scumbags, to use K-Drama translated vernacular.

I mopped up the overland flooding and spent days running the dehumidifier (which had already been running non-stop from the water line cracking) and other drying-up work.

I got the quote back to repair all the damage, not including replacing the water lines, and keeled over.

Reality soaked into my slow-processing brain. I called my insurance company. Head-desk break.

Many phone calls and worn-out throat later, I had coverage -- that wasn't an issue -- it's what's covered, what I have to pay for, what the procedure is, talking with the site inspector company and insurance adjuster, and on and on. I so need an angel to take over while I burrow under the covers until it's done. To have to parse out what I pay for and what the insurance company pays for is slaying me.

The insurance company wants me to fix the cause. But how can I get the water lines replaced until the demolition, but the demolition can't happen until after on-site inspection and new estimates come in and work starts? So until the water lines are replaced, I've turned off the valves from the reverse osmosis after filling jugs up for coffee and drinking water. That didn't last more than a few days.

Back to tap water for drinking. (Just as an aside, me and my ex got the reverse osmosis unit installed in the last century for health reasons, before drivers decided to speed and tailgate and cause my brain injury.) At least Toronto's tap water is potable despite all the construction work on water and sewer lines, which had already cost me a bundle last December, necessitating me putting in a water filter where the main line comes in so I don't have stinky dirt in my drinking water and HVAC system, which the city's insurance adjuster says ain't their fault, and I have nothing left in the tank to fight them on their obvious obfuscation.

The nice thing about writing a novel is you can skewer all the crap politicians and cities pull on you.

And oh yeah, the latest is mice in my attic.

And my solar inverter has stopped communicating. No inverter, no solar power.

And I have to write an AI statement for my novel* because that's the newest thing authors have to stuff into their books to prove they, and not a machine, wrote it. FML.

But I sacrificed my exercise regimen so that the third novel of The Q'Zam'Ta Trilogy is close to being ready for the final reader's review. Phew!

*This writer used AI to write that post, but it has useful information in it for authors and he discloses what he used and where. Since I'm a packrat by nature, I have always kept paper trails and digital drafts of every single version. Scrivener makes it easy by letting you take a snapshot so you can go back and forth between drafts or just for back up or, now, to prove you wrote it. Some of my chapters have so many snapshots, it's amazing I have drive space left. In addition, I backup at the end of each writing session. I also compile and email once I've written or edited the entire manuscript. Sometimes, when the universe leaves me alone, I have so much energy, I manage to do that for each chapter before conking out.

PS: I would've gotten this out sooner, but software and hardware and more unwanted interruptions...sigh.