lookingforlissa

Escape your life for a little while — come play in mine.

A terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day, only without real tragedy.

Posted by Lissa on March 16, 2010

I’d like to preface this whinging post by saying that nothing truly terrible happened, just a lot of middling irritations and sorrowful weeping.

It’s never a good thing when your ceiling starts crying.



It makes you want to cry right along with it.  Especially when the weepy part isn’t near any sliding glass door or window but is on a direct line to the sprinkler head.  Ruh-roh! We blotted up the water from the first bubble in the middle and hoped the job was done; the tears flanking the burst bubble appeared later in the day and we called maintenance.  (Our maintenance folks live in our building.  That’s very nice in that when the hot water goes down they have as much cause as the rest of us to fix it quickly!  I do hate calling them out on a weekend though.)

We were assured that it was not the sprinkler line, which is a relief.  It seems that there is a shelf/eave between our floor and the floor above; when the rain and wind combine just right, it blows into some little crack and then comes leaking down our wall.  It has finally, FINALLY stopped raining, so it should dry out pretty quickly and then they can cut-and-paste some new drywall.

Helping to dry it out is this noisy-box . . .

. . . otherwise known as a dehumidifier.  I don’t mind the background noise so much, but the resulting water flows through a long, long coiled tube into my kitchen sink.  And the coils are hogging my drainboard.

My wall was not the only thing crying on Sunday.  I had to take the train into Boston to usher for a choir concert.  The rain and wind were an unholy mess, doing their best to soak me from the knees down despite carrying an umbrella as big as I am.  (As for my soakedness, I thank the lord for the invention of knee-high pleather boots, for sure.)  I got stuck in the lobby during the performance so I couldn’t watch, but at least I could hear the music.  I could also clearly hear the woman getting violently ill in the women’s restroom; poor thing, she was pretty sick.

Why is it that some people just suck?  And those people can’t keep their sucky-ness to themselves, of course.  Noooooo, they’ve got to share their sourness and nastiness with the rest of the world.  Givers, that’s what they are.  This dried-up constipated skinny prick of a man reamed me out because the concert hall had no easily accessible wheelchair access to the men’s room.  Not that he needed wheelchair access, mind you, and I did apologize for the difficulty and start to fetch the concert hall manager who could get us access to the elevator.  He sneeringly declined my offer and stalked off.  Oh, and he was wandering about the lobby because the music was so boring it was putting him to sleep.  I’m so glad he shared that with me.

And at the end of the concert?  He asked me if there was going to be an intermission before the next part.  I confusedly explained that this WAS the end, at which point he informed me snottily that that was impossible, as there’s no way THAT had been worth a concert.

I hope he develops a bad case of hemorrhoids.

I was glad to usher for the concert, but it reminded me quite clearly that my voice is gone and I miss it.  Or perhaps not gone; just broken.  All my life when I’ve been the most sad and depressed and anguished I’ve sung to make myself feel better.  Knowing that my voice is broken and not being able to sing away the sadness wears on my soul.  Combine that with another problem (not suitable for blogging) and, well, I ended up in a huge crying jag, my arms wrapped around Mike and begging for reassurance and comfort.  (He does the comforting thing quite well.  I told you there were a few brights spots in my 24 hours of misery.)

Tomorrow I’ll tell you about my visit to the ENT.  For now, just believe that I went to bed completely wrung out and exhausted.

And my walls continued to weep.

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4 Responses to “A terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day, only without real tragedy.”

  1. Jay G. said

    I’ve been in consultation with Mike regarding some recoil therapy in the form of rifles.

    Let me know if this needs to be moved up on the calendar…

    (and feel better soon, Lissa. You’re *FAR* too nice to be having crying jags…)

  2. Brad K. said

    Lissa,

    Recorder. A soprano or alto recorder, maybe Hohner or Gill brand, look for pearwood, around $15-30 for the soprano, around $20-70 for the alto. Or a good “concert” grade Yamaha – avoid the all-ivory “student” plastic, the sound isn’t that great. I love my Aulos 803S soprano – easy to play, sounds good, for a “student” instrument.

    The voice of the instrument is pretty good – with practice, of course. You get to live and breathe music again. And you have something simple to cart with you, simple to break out and care for, to share with others and to enrich your day for yourself. Piano is good but not really portable – I keep an inexpensive soprano recorder in the car for waiting at stop lines or the Burger King driveway. This works better after you memorize a few songs. . .

    There was Anne McCaffrey’s “Crystal Singer”, based on an aspiring Opera singer that is told, near the end of her training, she has “an annoying whine in the upper register”.

    You could also give music lessons. Especially at the beginning levels you should be able to help others, and vicariously enjoy the music (sung correctly!).

    Stranding yourself in the lobby isn’t the only way to stay close to music. Why, you could take up the Kazoo!

    As for the unkind fellow, I am sure his interlude with you was the highlight of his day. While you may not have felt you were performing a successful presentation of distraction, he likely enjoyed a bit of social bullying to offset his angst regarding whoever dragged him to a concert he wouldn’t enjoy. Maybe we should nominate you for Entertainer of the Decrepit!

    Blessed be.

  3. Did you rent you dehumidifier? I think we’ll be needing an extra one to help dry out the basement. if so, and you still have my cell # please give me a call with info, I need to get one squared away ASAP.

    We’ll all be dry again soon, but BOY does this suck, ey?

  4. Found one in Woburn. So you can save your poor vox from talking with the pirate!

    Dry wishes to us all!

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