...to make me feel like I've shed my humanity.
Tuesday.
Oh-holy-jesus-god I swear that if I don’t have hot water tomorrow, I’m throwing myself in front of a bus.
Or at least jumping off the top of my building- it’s not the commuters’ fault maintenance is uninterested in my bathtub.
Due to the cold shower situation, my body is in various stages of shaving and I’ve been living like a goddamn hippie for the past month. One slow day at work, I devised a formula or ratio or something (how the hell would I know, I got a C- in high school calculus) determining how much of my body I could submerge in x degrees of cold water at a time. I am currently at 1/4th and it’s practically third world here with my one smooth leg and sink washed hair. I’m not feeling so pretty, folks.
Everyday last week I expected to come home to a nice letter from the building handymen explaining how they came in, discovered Norman and won’t tell, and by-the-way fixed the temperature- have a nice day. But NO! My mental state has since deteriorated and sobbing is quite frequent in this dwelling.
(...but isn’t that becaus-
No.)
Anywho. I decided to warm up from tonight’s 1/4th shower with a little rum and immediately was overcome with thinky-thoughts. Answer me this- in a situation where one has little control over the majority of the factors, where one is at the mercy of those with a better understanding of the parts, even though it probably doesn’t matter either way,
...is it better to wish or to hope?
Think of me while you’re taking fabulously long showers. I’ll get a pervy kick out of it.