A 5K, friendship, and a leaky pipe

At first glance, my weekend looks as though it was pretty good. I ordered my dining room table and chairs. I rearranged my furniture. I spent hours with two good friends...kindred spirits...kind souls. I watched as Chester and Stan romped and played with their best friends, Izzie and Sophie, while I got to chat with one of my closest friends. I ran a 5K race with a new found friend. I napped. I dance Zumba and made food for the week.

Upon second glance, one might notice a slight tension. I can't seem to be motivated to clean the house. My dishwasher and garbage disposal don't work, and I haven't called an appliance repair person yet. When I do laundry I find water in the basement (pay close attention to where this might lead...). I would rather lay in the flannel coziness of my bed than do anything maintanence oriented in my home. And then it s back to work.

To make matters worse, I discovered after I took my bath tonight that the water in the basement is not from the washing machine after all. I went downstairs to feed the dogs after my bath and realized that my septic line...my main pipeline...has sprung a leak. All that magnolia scented bathwater was spurting out of my main pipeline. Suddenly, not only did I feel overwhelmed by the day to day tasks of home and dog ownership; I was thinking about how I was going to deal with this and how can I take of work and how much money is this going to cost to fix and can I flush the toilet and friends are coming over this weekend so how do I entertain and what do I do with the dogs...You get the picture.

So...I cry. And then breathe. And finally...write.

One step forward-I pay a visit to the hospital that contained the most intimate moments of my life. I feel good, energized, and ready to keep working through this grief thing. Then, one step back-How do I deal with this alone? Should I call a spade a spade and move away from this old house? Where is Mike when I need him? Oh, yeah, that is where...it is like grief just comes circling around again but in a different form. Mike would know what to do. Mike could take time off to help with this. Mike knew the plumbers to call who understand ancient homes. Mike could find the the duct-tape.

So...I dry my tears. I write. I breathe. And I decide I have no other choice but to face it.

My earlier grief would have me trying to find some sort of symbol...Maybe Mike did this so he can see whether I really do have what it takes to be alone. My current grief does not agree. It was only a matter of time. If he were alive, water would be coming out of that pipe. It is at least freeing to know that I am not caught up in what this may mean...but rather how to deal with it.

So...I laugh a bit because this is just the way things are. I write about the situation. I breathe. And I call the plumber in the morning.