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I am listening to the musical, A YEAR WITH FROG AND TOAD. Yes, it is based on that children’s series. I had to put something soothing on. I’ve already put hot water on to boil, because when the chips are down, you make tea. I joke that I must have been British in a past life. I don’t remember being British in a past life.
Why am I upset? The basement is flooded. Remember a few blogs back where I said the plumber stopped us in the middle of the road one morning? Well, the new plumbing sprang a leak. Like shooting water three feet from the wall leak. Sweet Jesus. It was, of course, in the part of the basement where old manuscripts go to be stored. I don’t know how much is ruined, but some of the manuscripts are oringals of the first Anita books, the first Merry books. Some are even unpublished books, unpublished series. That kind of thing. Not to mention years of notebooks from high school and college. So much for posterity getting my literary fingernail clippings.
I am so angry that I cannot help everyone sort through the papers. Not yet. I am so angry that I can’t think clearly enough to look at the mess. All I can think is, that it’s ruined. It’s all ruined. Probably some of it can be saved, but what parts? Four copies of my ex-husband’s high school year books are high and dry. I didn’t even know I had them. But my early manuscripts were mostly ink-jet printers. Shit.
I want to rant and rave, scream and throw things, but I won’t. Throwing things just means you break something that you’ll probably want later. When the plumber comes this afternoon if he just apologizes and fixes it, then it will all be fine. If on the other hand, he tries to get more money out of us, or some such crap, the cynical part of me will wonder if the leak was really all that accidental. Unfair? Maybe, but what else am I to think? They caused the problem and they want more money to fix a problem they caused. Like the car mechanic who fixed the small problem I’d brought my car in for, then when he drove it with me, there was a new and louder rattle. He offered to have me pay to fix that to. I talked to his boss and explained that I wasn’t paying for something they broke that day. They fixed it without complaining after that, but if I’d been less firm, they’d have made me pay for fixing their mistake (deliberate or otherwise). How many other people, read women, did that car place bully into more money? God knows. This was years and years ago, so the place isn’t there anymore.
I will not be bullied. I treat others fairly, professionally, and I expect the same in return. If people are unfair and not professional, well, then, the gloves are off.