Tried to Run from My Destruction

Saturday evening began with toilet water pouring from the ceiling of my bathroom.

I won't even go into the exchange I had with my psychotic Russian super in the aftermath. The amount I'm paying to live here, the very least I should expect is an apartment where fucking TOILET WATER isn't gushing down from the ceiling. If the building didn't employ an asshole psychopath who can barely speak English, maybe I'd have that.

Fucking poetic.

But then I went off to see my accountant for some Saturday night tax prep. And the guy worked his miracles. And suddenly, the world began to open up again.

Living on the brink of disaster is a fucking hard way to live. Surviving complete ruin might be fleetingly life-affirming, but you still get wayyy too bruised up.

Next few weeks: my Hail Mary.

I hope I can share something with you...