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Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200 (Part 2)

So…here’s what really went down. Congratulations to the following for making great guesses as to the nature of my confinement in this post: 

http://www.platosgroove.com/, http://pricelessjoy.co/, https://littlelearner.wordpress.com/, https://timeformythoughts.wordpress.com/, http://devdm.com/, https://kiwigrannz.wordpress.com/, http://onetahayes.com/, https://robakers.wordpress.com/

No one got it quite right, but Danny was the closest!

***

I sit, morose, staring at the wall of my laundry room. The smell of moldering wood and damp stone fills my nostrils. I feel my sinuses flare, building pressure.

We had a huge leak between the bathroom and laundry room. Our son, with batlike ears, alerted us. “Mama, I went to get in the shower, and I hear water. I haven’t turned it on, yet.”

Hubby and I locked eyes, then almost tipped our chairs backwards onto the patio as we rushed toward the screen door. A quick listen at the tub wall confirmed our concerns. ANOTHER leak.

We removed a three-shelf unit from the wall above the washer, pulled the washer out and Hubby pressed a sheet rock knife to the wall. It crumbled. soaked through.

This small room, not quite two meters square, does not lend itself to comfort. Hard floor, bare walls. No bed, not even a cot (because, laundry room). Just a pile of dirty laundry. Stenciled letters on the rough grey back of the shower, which I can now see, indicate my location. “Downstairs Bath.”  Like I’d forget. I guess the contractors wanted to make sure the tub went to the right spot.

Exposed pipes, dripping water…this place should be condemned, or at least remodeled. Okay, we’ll just repair the pipes and put up new sheet rock. The previous occupant managed to leave a small hole in the floor. An attempt to escape? Shawshank Redemption isn’t going to happen here. No one stays that long in the laundry room.

Maybe he was digging a latrine. (Actually, the hole in the floor—which should not be there—saved us; much of the water pouring from the pipe ran out the hole and under the house. We’ll have to replace a lot of insulation in the crawl space, but we won’t have to replace the flooring in much of the downstairs, which is likely what would have happened if the water had stayed on the floor and flooded through the house between the sub-floor and flooring.)

I sit in one cramped corner and stare up at the small window, then over through the steel bars of the laundry shelf we removed, praying for this ordeal to end. Nature calls, but I’m not using the bucket in the corner. Is that even a legally acceptable bathroom facility? I’m waiting for Hubby to finish exploring the damage under the house. I will hand him tools through the hole, as he replaces failed copper pipe elbows. I can wait a little longer, I think.

I pick at the crumbling masonry. Dripping water has eroded enough that a chunk falls off in my hands. I dream of simply walking away, then glance at the black and tan guard dog in the hall. Okay, slight exaggeration. He’s no guard dog, just a 25 lb. beagle-basset hound mutt, sleeping with his face buried in our laundry (now piled in the hall). He’s dragged pieces of our clothing to the top of the pile. he’s sleeping with his face buried in half of my…brassiere. He looks sort of like a 1800s prairie girl with a bonnet. Or a one-eyed alien frog.

No sleep tonight. I sigh, resigning myself to missing yet another blog post. Shaking out my stiff legs, I lean my head back against the corner and pray for rescue. Finally, SuperHubby finishes all the pipes and announces we can call it a night, freeing me from my little spot behind the washer. Do not pass Go…go straight to bed!

Now if I can just figure out how to collect that $200.

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Do Not Pass Go; Do Not Collect $200

Today’s Prompt: Go to a local café, park, or public place and write a piece inspired by something you see. Get detailed: leave no nuance behind.Today’s twist: write an adverb-free post.

First person to guess where I’ve been for the last couple days (and WHY) wins.

(Yes, this is why I missed a few posts…)

***

I sit, morose, staring at the wall of my cell. The smell of moldering wood and damp stone fills my nostrils. I feel my sinuses flare, building pressure.

This small room, not quite two meters square, does not lend itself to comfort. Hard floor, bare walls. No bed, not even a cot. Just a pile of dirty rags. Stenciled letters on a rough grey background indicate my location. Like I’d forget.

Exposed pipes, dripping water…this place should be condemned, or at least remodeled. The previous occupant managed to leave a small hole in the floor. An attempt to escape? Shawshank Redemption isn’t going to happen here. No one stays that long.

Maybe he was digging a latrine.

I sit in one cramped corner and stare up at the small window, then over through the steel bars, praying for this ordeal to end. Nature calls, but I’m not using the bucket in the corner. Is that even a legally acceptable bathroom facility?

I pick at the crumbling masonry. Dripping water has eroded enough that a chunk falls off in my hands. I dream of simply walking away, then glance at the black and tan guard dog in the hall.

No sleep tonight. I sigh, resigning myself to missing yet another blog post. Shaking out my stiff legs, I lean my head back against the corner and pray for rescue.

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