It’s so fucking ridiculous, it’s definitely my life. The day after we put my dad into hospice, I wake up, step out into my hallway and my foot squishes into our glorious, soggy carpet. My first thought was ‘did the Viking or I pee on the floor here in our sleep?’ until I took another squishy step. Motherfucker.
I text the Viking about what is going down, and call my mom. We discuss stuff that is rather unpleasant. I tell her I love her, and then the Viking calls. I tell him my brilliant plan. I’ll run to buy a carpet cleaner since we need one with our glorious carpet.
I spend all afternoon pulling the water out of the carpet. I don’t know how to shut off the water to our house, so I know it is like bailing out a sinking ship with a tin cup, but I was going to try my best, by gawd. Finally after 3 or so hours of vacuum a few minutes, empty tank, replace tank, vacuum some more, I see the Viking driving up. I empty the tank, walk back into the house, slip, fall, take out the lattice beside our door by putting my fucking arm through it, and then crawl out of the door way. I sit there as he walks in, looks at me on the floor, looks at the house, looks at the lattice, and asks what happened.
I explain, he offers me a hand up, and I refuse. At this point, I’ve decide I give up. I start sobbing. All I can think is, Dude? Seriously? I’m not saying I do or don’t believe in God, but as I’m sitting on the floor with scrapes, scratches, and new bruises and pains, I decide the Powers that Be have a fucked up sense of humor. If the old adage ‘God never gives you more than you can handle’ is true, we have a very different sense of what exactly I can handle.
Eventually, I get up. The Viking shuts off the water to the house, and asks me how to operate the carpet cleaner, and works for a bit to get the water up.
Later he told me he thought he was having a bad day until his saw me sobbing on the floor with the lattice wreckage.