Guess I'm coping

(Though if it takes Okie Dig as long as it took for Charles...well, I WILL be showing up on someone's doorstep with my sponge bag, greasy hair, and a grumpy expression. I can cope with most things that involve not having water but dealing with manky hair isn't going to be one of them. Though then again, I could probably spend three bucks on a few gallons of "drinking water" and wash my hair in the sink. I don't know. I hope it doesn't come to that.)

Someone commented in a thread on the professors' discussion group of Ravelry that "technology is great, except when it isn't."

That's true of everything. Living in an older house is great (because the rooms are bigger, there's not a rabbit-warren of "kid's bedrooms," there are actual decent-sized windows instead of "energy efficient" tiny "eyebrow" windows), except when it isn't.

And it seems like I'm running about one thing needing to be replaced a year:

first it was the roof (though, granted, that was more to satisfy the insurance company's demand that they knew how old the roof was).

Then it was major problems with the furnace, which were made worse because the first person I hired was an idiot who thought it was an electrical rather than a mechanical problem.

Then it was the hot water heater.

Then it was the dishwasher.

Then it was the drains not draining.

Then it was the garage door.

And that doesn't even count the occasional "Air conditioner down!" or weird electrical glitch (had to have a couple switches replaced), little stuff like that.

And while I've become better at rolling with the punches and figuring that having to be the one to arrange to have stuff repaired is the price of not living in a concrete hive of apartments with neighbors who like to smoke ganja out on their patio (over your head) or who like to play first-person-shooter video games late into the night, in the room that shares a wall with your bedroom...still, I will say I sigh with dismay when I think about what I might wind up replacing next. (I'm betting on the stove.)

Also: being single and living alone is great for me, except when it isn't. How nice it would be to have a Significant Other with a more flexible work schedule, where he would say, "Don't worry about it; I'll call the plumber and wait for him to arrive." Or to, at least, provide advice in such a situation. Or at least to be a compatriot in the discomfort.

I also discovered what it is that makes my hands swell and hive up - I had one incident of this earlier this summer - it's having to lift heavy items, like a full five gallon bucket of water, that have only a narrow bail to lift them by. (It's also entirely possible I have a nickel allergy now, and there was nickel in the handles of the buckets I bought.) I'm having to wear the ring I always wear on my right ring finger on the pinky finger instead, because I can't get it onto that finger.

I can lift forty pounds in the form of, say, a bag of soil, no problem - because most of the strain of the weight is on my hips, shoulders, and upper arms. But lifting a full bucket, so much of the strain is on my hands that it really hurts them. (I have one full and one still-partially-full bucket. I really hope I don't have to go another round of filling them.)