Last night I mopped, soaked, and scrubbed, my kitchen floor so furiously, I caused a leak. Admittedly, it was the third night in a row I'd done it... Knowing what a pain in the absolute ass they are, I felt horrible when the woman who lives below me came upstairs with her one and a half year old toddler attached to her hip, wondering why her ceiling was leaking.
It was all very bizarre. These past few weeks I've completely kept to myself. I'd already fired Sue, and have been avoiding phone calls and Skype requests from Bethany and tom. They've sent me many concerned emails (or so their subject lines lead me to believe) but like all emails, I've been ignoring them.
I've taken to watching asshole television (Finding Bigfoot, Sext you Ex, Cheaters...anything that I can compare my life to that is arguably more pathetic than my situation) after my obsessive cleaning everyday. I vacuum my living room and bedroom carpet four times a day, and mop my tiled bathroom and kitchen wooden floor incessantly. A frantic four times each. Despite my upkeep with my hygiene and appearance (still brush four times a day, floss twice, shave twice, shower twice) I've morphed into some kind of monster. Instead of being anxious and prone to intenser bouts of it throughout the day, I'm in a constant frenzy of agitation. I don't do the things that calm me or bring me joy anymore.
Don't practice yoga.
Don't email my few friends.
Don't Skype Bethany or Tom.
Don't read before bed.
Don't drink tea.
Don't watch Frasier.
I just clean. It provides an outlet for my anger, and satisfaction of my anxieties. As always.
Then though, just then, this sweetest woman comes up holding her adorable child. She seemed to be in her early thirties, with long brown hair and green eyes. She was in sweats, slippers, and had her hair partially clipped up. She looked a little worn. In a concerned yet kind manner, she inquired about the leak. This exchange took place in my door way, so I didn't have to deal with explaining any of my bullshit to her. Because of this, and how attractive and harmless she seemed, and...I don't know what else... I found myself lying to her. And boy, did I make up some lie. It really wasn't that extravagant, but I rarely lie. Also, the lie I told is highly improbable to anyone who knows my current situation, so that's also why it was so alarming.
Anyway, I told her my nephew (I'll never have one, not blood related, anyway) Neil, was house-sitting with me for a few days while I was at a conference for women's history at Northeastern in Boston (which I wanted to go to, but of course didn't. It happened last semester and my closest colleague provided a write-up of it for me) for a few days. During his last visit which was two days ago, he accidentally left the kitchen sink's faucet running, thus causing a horrific leak. I then apologized profusely, which she responded well to. We struck up conversation about relying on others, in which I told her I'll be extremely reluctant to ask Neil to house-sit for me again (Marty what the hell, just drop it) and she tells me how she's having difficulty in finding someone in this city to babysit her son.
What do I do? I tell her I love kids and would be glad to take care of him, baby sit him. Why, you ask? I have no fucking idea. I'm going through something here. Perhaps my body is going into survival mode without me registering it, and my subconscious is forcing me to do these things that will get me out of my apartment and my grief. Anxiousness. Madness. Whatever you think I'm victim of.
But here I am. Crippled by OCD, unable to leave the house, was fired from my job because of it, and have offered Renee- as I discovered her name to be- to watch Natey, her son. A one and a half year old, spitting up, self-defecating human.
Most of these sinks will not be just by the actual washing laundry space anymore, a lot more dining rooms are being built with this kind of kitchen sink in your mind.
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