Isn’t that a fancy title? Yeah, one of the many annoying things about our dumpy (yet, we’re still grateful it isn’t a cardboard box) apartment is that the bathtub drain clogs up about every two weeks. However, this week it’s been three times.

I’m still not standing for a whole shower after my knee surgery. So, I still have my little shower stool in the tub. I continue to have some difficulty getting into a comfy sleeping position. This is made harder because I have two torn rotator cuffs—each have their own little story.

Trying to get comfortable enough to sleep had been a challenge and has done a number on my lower back. Thus, I’ve been taking two quickie showers a day. I sit on my little stool and let the hot steamy water slam onto my back and I swear I could sit there all day because it feels so good.

I’m sure the extra showering has contributed to the drain clogging. It also doesn’t help that my skin is still peeling from the allergic reaction to the surgery bandages. I swear it’s like a minor chemical burn. My surgery leg (the right one) is about five shades darker than my alabaster left leg. That’s normal for such an allergic reaction. The coloration is supposed to be temporary, but can last multiple weeks. The ninth will mark one month since I removed the surgery bandages. My skin on that leg is so tight it feels as if it’s full size too small for my leg.

Boy, did my skin look scary. I wish I could post current photos, but I have to upgrade my plan with WordPress, and hey, I’m not working and the short term disability checks are a paltry $182 a week. So, an upgrade isn’t going to happen anytime soon.

The drain clogging has been an issue here for seven years. Personally, but I’m not a plumber, I think there’s probably two inches of straight down pipe extending from the drain and then a 90 degree turn so that nothing drains properly.

This apartment is about five steps above a slum. It’s a crappy neighborhood, but thankfully we have cool, considerate neighbors on one side and a family who we really don’t love (the baby daddy gives us bad vibes) , but they keep to themselves and don’t have obnoxious parties. I do love how they decorate their yard (it’s all townhouses and everyone has a front yard) for Halloween and Christmas. Really outstanding work. So, they have that to their credit.

Basically, we don’t report the drain problem to the landlord (the owner is the maintenance dude. He’s actually pretty nice, but whoa! A little spacey). Plus, I keep hoping, praying, feeling that some kind of little miracle is going to get us out of here. It’s like I can feel that miracle coming and at the last minute doubt creeps in: a different job doesn’t pan out, home based side hustles are not as profitable, or plentiful, or usually, my bipolar disorder slips into the depression abyss. Yes, I’m medicated, happily so, or it could be worse.

I seriously just want to get enough cash to help me pay for my own home. I want the solitude to write and self reflect on what I do want. Should I give up on Orlando completely? I’m kind of afraid to leave because my health went bonkers in 2021 and after a period of six weeks when my doctors increased in number from four to eight, I was in a four car accident caused by an unconscious shot man (yeah, gotta love Florida and our fine citizens), and I’m a bit hesitant to move away from my excellent doctors. Oh, and that accident broke my right shoulder and tore my rotator cuff. So, then I acquired doctor number nine. I’ve since consolidated them. Now, I just get all my OBY/GN treatment from my oncologist gynecologist. And my orthopedic added two partners and I think they treat accident injuries now. I just hope they never have to treat me for such injuries—ever. One totaled car is more than enough for me to handle. The shot man also totaled his Ford Ranger and a Toyota Rav 4. The Toyota was the car that got shoved into my Pontiac.

Yep, so I’ve had such a blast with health issues the last few years. I’d just love to have my own quiet place where I figure out where I want to be: Tampa Bay, return to Portland, what, where? I figure laying low here for awhile (after I get lucky enough to move where the tubs don’t clog constantly) and just chill, is probably the best thing to do.

I know I’m not staying here the rest of my life, unless another sort of miracle happens and I meet someone who turns out to be an amazing guy and we build a great relationship. I’m not holding my breath on that one.

I probably have a better chance of winning a multimillion dollar lottery jackpot. I already know I have a better chance of winning a Fantasy 5 jackpot—but that was five figures and 19 years ago.

I think the drain is ready for it’s dose of hot water.

And, yay! It’s 3:47 am. My sleep schedule is so messed up from surgery pain. I’m over it.