… are small. But victories withal.
And in the context of today, not necessarily so small.
It got off to a less than optimal start when I woke up after too little sleep, and couldn’t go back to sleep. Managed to get some rewriting done. Also watched much of the endless World Cup final.
Every four years I watch match after match of the World Cup with a sort of horrid fascination, trying to figure out how to enjoy soccer. Once again, it didn’t work. Ah, well: at least one of the two countries from which the majority of my ancestors hailed was certain to win. And one-half beat one-quarter.
Anyway, after Spain finally scored a goal at the end of overtime, I no longer had an excuse not to tackle the Awful Sewer Problem. Which I suppose is redundant. What other kind of sewer problem could there be?
To make it quick and dirty, the job was dirty, but not quick. At last I surrendered, having succeeded, so far as I could ascertain, in doing no more than tangling the snake and getting sewage on me.
Oh. I got hot and sweaty, too. Can’t omit that.
In that state, I came in, cleaned up as best as I could, and called Larry, who’d lent me the snake, for guidance in how to use the damn thing. I’d already looked the problem up on the Internet (if you didn’t see that coming, you don’t know me) and found instructions sufficient so that I .., Failed not quite so Epically.
Larry hadn’t known I was trying to unclog the outside line. The snake was probably too skinny for the four-inch pipe and would uselessly double back on itself, he told me. Great.
At this point such friends as were aware of my plight once again me awed and earned my gratitude by rallying to my aid. Knowing I am not in the happiest financial circumstances, Larry called some people he knows for recommendations on cheap, reliable, sewer-unpluggers. My best friend Joe actually tried (without success) to get a day off to help me.
And after reading about my plight on Twitter, Albuquerque SF writer Steve Gould, who’s been mentioned here before, kindly offered to lend me his sewer snake. He said it would work better than what I had, and probably solve my problem.
Unfortunately he immediately fell afoul of what I eventually dubbed No Way This Doesn’t Sound Suggestive Theater when he prefaced his generous offer by Tweeting, “I have a stiff fifty-footer.” Being the sort of man I am (a smartass) I promptly accused him of bragging.
But I, like the sewage, was still stuck. Also tired and discouraged. When I start missing too much sleep my morale seriously sags, which I guess need not surprise us. So I went and took a bath, figuring that wouldn’t be too odious bubbling up the backyard. Relatively. And also because, fuck it.
After the bath, which included a too-brief nap, I felt … not so aggressively awful sounds more accurate than better. But I did smell better.
After drying off I got dressed and wandered in the backyard to assess the new damage, or floodage, inspired I suppose by morbid curiosity as much as anything else.
And lo, the water level was. Low, that is. In fact it had dropped back into its accustomed place in the pipe, instead of halfway up the cutout.
Hmm, thought I.
I went back inside and flushed the toilet. Rushing back out I peered down the cutout. And damned if the water wasn’t flowing placidly along the bottom of the pipe, as Gods intended.
So: holy crap, it worked! I’m not sure how. But I’m not complaining.
And now: still tired. Not going to get anything else useful accomplished today, except getting to sleep at a useful damn hour. But there’s the sweet warm feeling of win, and the equally sweet absence of the clogged sewer hanging over my head. (Not a mixed metaphor. You’re welcome for the visual.)
And I need to get crunching. The sewer thing’s been a distraction as well as time and energy sink. And I have much to do.
Tomorrow I’ll get up and kick ass. Damn straight.
Update, 10:41 PM – well, hell. Heard the unwelcome gurgle from beneath the bathtub and went out to find washing-machine drainage gushing into the yard. Not welcome.
I’m more perplexed than discouraged. The drain was flowing freely earlier; it handled the full bathtub contents without a hiccup.
When I called him to tell him the good news, Joe suggested there was a chance whatever was obstructing the pipe might hang up again somewhere down the line. This may have happened. He suggested running the hose down the cutout for a while to flush the line.
I got creative and decided to run a load of laundry instead.
So – we shall see. I’m not despairing yet. If the new (?) blockage persists I can always run Larry’s snake down it again o the off chance. And I can always go borrow Steve’s 50-foot stiff one.
Fingers crossed the continuing laundry drainage will resolve this…
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