I had a silent adult temper tantrum last night just before bed. I’d pondered leaving to go pick up a plunger and drain snake to deal with the clogged shower drain. But I knew troubleshooting at that late, hot, tired hour was a bad move. If anything went awry (and doesn’t it always?) I was too drained to cope like a rational human. I knew The Move was to put myself to bed and deal with the drain in the morning.
The shower drain in the trailer only semi-functions in the best of times due to the floor being too flat. Weird problem, I know – basically water that is lucky enough to hover exactly above the drain, drains. We lift up the teak floor to squeegee out the rest. The glamour, I know!
But, when it overflows the black hand towel we use as a mat just outside the shower door is the first tell: it gets soppy, sodden. This happened last night after I showered. But, lo and behold, when I lifted up the teak flooring to squeegee, the water just swished around.
The first primal (in my head) yell, of course, was “WES!”. But Wes was/is out doing this thing called “working”. Wes won’t be back ’til later this week. And, come to think of it, I realized, when he’s back from his long days of being outside, Wes is going to need to shower. (I am going to need Wes to shower).
So, I ran a quick Google search for “clogged trailer drain”, learned some things, and pulled out my yellow note pad ongoing check list. “Snake, plunger, dawn soap”. Then I made the bed and parked myself in it.
Enter “the thought”, the aforementioned silent tantrum (like a terrible silent disco, in which an adult just stands and scowls while staring into nothingness) which was:
“I just want to know how this ends.”
Here’s the funny thing, and it was funny in the moment too – immediately on the heels of that thought came another one. “No I don’t.”
From knowing how the plugged up drain ends, I realized, would come a cascade of knowing how so many other things end. I’d already know everything that happens in our upcoming staycation with Reesa. I’d know where we’ll be in five years. I’d know what lovely things are in store, and what grief is on its way. I don’t want to know how it ends at all! That’s just my fear that somehow the clogged drain is terminal. I’m not exaggerating. These little blips can feel like a complete eclipse of my human experience; an impediment to getting to fully experiencing my life.
Meanwhile, these blips and hurdles and successes and challenges are life.
I know how it ends. One way or another, the drain gets fixed. It’s a funny, annoying, hopefully ultimately triumphant little chapter that gets wrapped into the bigger chapters of days, of which I truly don’t want to know the ending. I want to stay lucky enough to experience it all as it unfolds.
And, ultimately I fixed the drain. I played DeVotchKa’s “This is How It Ends” as the literal soundtrack to me gunking around in there, just for some extra strings and drama, and laughed at myself as (with a good night’s sleep at my aid) I got ‘er done.