Thursday, May 13, 2010

Looking for the Meaning of Life

When we last saw the crazy lady, she was sitting on the damp, cold concrete of the porch wrestling with existential questions.

"Why did I buy a house?"

"Why did I buy this house?"

"If it fell down in an earthquake, could I pick out my rubber stamps and the cat and just start over?"


But the crazy lady was not willing to admit defeat. She took the trowel in her teeth and started the long, exhausting dive through the terribly, tiny crawlspace door.

Thinking it made sense to start at the furthest puddle and work back towards the sump, she set her sights on the under-bedroom lake.

Up over the sewer pipe she went, stopping only to spew expletives at a half-buried chunk of concrete wanting a closer relationship with her left leg. From there, it was a fairly easy elbow drag to the shore of the inky black lake.

The crazy lady could see clearly that all she had to do was dig a small trench from the lake to the sump, and all of the water would drain. Piece o' cake...

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