Thursday, I come home to rain inside the house. Right over where the roof empties into the gutters. A dread idea hits me, and I go out in the monsoon and get the ladder out. Not only had a clogged outlet (think clogged storm drain) turned the roof into a wading pool (much of which was coming down through the ceiling into the bedroom or flooding the basement workshop area), but there was a plug a foot long in the downspout, which I had to clear by hand---fortunately my hand is small enough to fit! Soaked to the skin and still coughing, I strip down to my wet underwear, and start sopping up the bedroom and placing buckets and plastic sheets. Then I start on the basement, where the cats are upset because their box is an island, and their food dishes are floating, sucking up water with the shop vac, taking it up and dumping it in the driveway. After about 15 or twenty loads of water, with towels going in the drier from sopping up water (and clothes that got wet under the dripping ceiling) the doorbell rings. It's my friend Jordan, wanting to do his laundry. Aaargh! And in totally clueless fashion, when I tell him the basement is flooding, says "Oh, we can't get to the washing machine?" Repeat after me, I say, "Oh, that's awful. Are you okay? Can I help?" He blinks at me and tells me I look good in wet underwear, since I am standing there half-dressed my hair hanging wetly like a drowned rat. Some guys just don't have half a brain... (You know someone's a good friend if you let them into the house while you're in this state...but...)
It's probably why I have coughing fits. I made it to Heather's concert where she was recording for her latest album, but had to go sit out a couple songs in the lobby of the church (do churches have lobbies?) because I was suppressing coughing, and thought my head was going to explode. It's definitely been a week.