I should have moved to the desert.

I no longer need to visit India because I have seen the monsoon. I was driving home from a weekend with the ‘rents and endured two full hours of oh-my-god-where-is-the-road driving in a downpour. Yay!

And then?

And then I was exhausted and got home and hurriedly unloaded all of the stuff and unpacked my bag right away because I was ready to collapse on the couch and possibly fall asleep around 9.

And then?

And then I went to put away my empty bag, only to find two inches of water in my basement.

Long and painful story short?

The pipe from the drain into the sump is clogged. And I think I burned out the sump pump by sweeping approximately 879 gallons of water into it. And Surrogate Dad is coming over in the morning, but it’s 12:43 a.m. and I’m scared to go to sleep for fear that my basement will be a deep swimming pool when I wake up.

I’ve just spent the last two hours creating a mountain of crap in the last dry corner of the basement, and hauling water out of the sump in a three-gallon bucket. And I couldn’t even tell the difference whenever I pulled another three gallons out of the sump.

Dear Cinder Block Basement:
I thought we were friends. What gives?
Cha Cha

And it’s still raining. Oh, dear. Oh, dear, dear, dear.

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