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Drama: This is the song that doesn’t end…

05/21/2012

Entry 05/21/2012 10:13:32 AM – Mentat 645

*takes a deep breath* My roommate (now known as “Mr. Dead-to-Me”) might be out of my hair since the last journal entry, but there seems to be no end to the sort of drama that he creates within the tranquility of the homestead. Take for example toward the end of the week last week. I woke up Friday morning to find a note on the door to the bathroom that the toilet had been broken and that he had called/texted the landlord earlier in the evening (more like the dead of the morning) that he had been informed of it being broken.

So, during the morning, I do a little investigating to see what had broken, suspecting that in his drunken stupor it was something simple enough for me to fix myself, and then contacting the landlord that his services weren’t necessary. Turns out though what Mr. Dead-to-Me did was break off a part of the feed to the ring on the base of the toilet. This was a 2-piece toilet that the tank is one part, and the base the other. It was broken at the point where the right side bolt connects the tank to the base.

It didn’t take much brain power to realize that the only way this could’ve happened was that Mr. Dead-to-Me had banged/bashed into the tank just hard enough to break the connector. Further it was just enough of a break that the feed to the ring on the base of the toilet was opened and that anytime one flushed the toilet, water would leak out and onto the floor.

Sighing, I left the call in place with the landlord and waited patiently for him to show up.

The landlord showed up about 3 – 4 PM with caulk in hand, and wanted to look into the problem.

The landlord got one look at the broken fragment and the location on the toilet it had broken off from and came to the same conclusion: that the only way that the toilet could’ve broken off was by him seriously banging into the toilet’s tank.

Mr. Dead-to-Me feigned shock and insult at the accusation.

The landlord smiled and nodded and said, “Well you were more than a little tipsy when you called last night, Mark.” Then the landlord looked at me and asked, “Do you have any idea what Mark was talking about when he talked about the bathtub?” He ignored Mark the entire time.

I shrugged my shoulders, put my hands up in surrender and said, “your guess is as good as mine.”

Turns out that instead of telling the landlord to show up when he could, Mr. Dead-to-Me rambled like he can only do about his pipe-dream about getting the old cast-iron tub removed (because he finds it so difficult to get into because of his gout) and to save space, suggested a single shower stall be put in, instead.

The landlord smiled and nodded in that patronizing way toward Mr. Dead-to-Me and informed him of all the issues (most of all costs) of costs and time for this to get done. Of course the subtlety of how he was telling us was not missed on me. The entire time that he was talking about costs and time he was telling me, completely ignoring Mr. Dead-to-Me in the process. Right down to the fact that Mr. Dead-to-Me made comments about how he’s a plumber in his drunken rant at 2 in the morning to the landlord and how the landlord says that here in the state of Rhode Island, everyone knows how to do everything.

I smiled and nodded and simply stated, “I know politics and how to play them. Anything that involves building and renovations, I leave to professionals,” and went on to state, “I rather like the claw-foot tub, even if I don’t take a bath in it and have no problem really with the way the bathroom is laid out.”

So out went the landlord with smile and the promise to return with the proper sealant and adhesive.

Half-hour later, he returned and explained that the sealant that he acquired would take a couple of hours to dry and warned to leave alone for at least a day for it to completely seal.

I assured him that we’d use the toilet without flushing and would use the “ghetto” method of flushing (by using a 4 quart pot filled with water and pouring it down the toilet as it didn’t leak that way at all.

Later that night though I confirmed that the original issue was caused by Mr. Dead-to-Me’s drunken stupors because sometime around 3 AM that night, I found myself pattering through a puddle on the floor from his pouring water down the toilet and failing miserably. I decided for the sake of quiet at the middle of the night, I wouldn’t comment at all and simply smiled to myself in ironic justification and went to bed after sopping up the puddle in the bathroom.

So the toilet’s fixed, there’s no leaking and hopefully Mr. Dead-to-Me won’t bang into the toilet, breaking off that piece or another piece of it in the process.

So a couple of weeks later as I had hoped, the pinched nerve in my shoulder’s doing better. I only feel it occasionally when I’m not sitting properly or when I over-extend myself. The exercises that the doctor gave me and the exercising I’ve been doing on a daily basis has really helped it along better than I had expected. My thumb still doesn’t quite feel right, but after calling my doctor, he tells me that this is normal as it’s something about the way the nerve got pinched. He tells me that this will pass as well — but it’ll take longer than my shoulder or the nerves in my forearm. Told me there’s nothing to worry about, even if feeling in my thumb is a bit diminished in the process.

The weather’s finally spring-like and I’ve been enjoying the walks that I take through the neighborhoods as well as cross-town (as I did last weekend). I got a chance to head over to the East Side (and Thayer St) just to see what kind of life is going on there. Surprisingly, I’ve found it to be remarkably quiet at the Brown and RISD campuses. Then again as I head back home, I passed the bulk of Brown’s campus and saw on the meeting hall’s front billboard that commencement was scheduled for this week (23 – 25, May) and realized that the underclassmen are probably done and headed home for the summer, with the graduates simply enjoying late mornings in. There were a bit more RISD classmen around the campus as I remember when I got to College Hill, I saw quite a lot of the kids out on the lawns, sunning themselves and sleeping in the warmth.

Heh, came head on with Johnson & Wales graduates at the Dunkin Donut’s Center (formerly the Providence Civic Center) as they and their families were pouring out of every door to auditorium in the caps and gowns and best dress. Commencement and Graduation Ceremonies were in full swing and found myself more than a little frustrated as folk were milling about and blocking local traffic like cows let loose on a pasture of fresh grass and hay. When I got passed the milling crowds and onto Atwells Avenue, I realized that things really hadn’t changed all that much since my roommate Rick had graduated from Johnson & Wales in the early 90s. The only difference is that I intentionally missed out on heading down to Providence for that exact reason.

Amusingly as I sit here and write this journal entry, I realize, I’ve yet to actually go into the place. Any concerts that I’ve gone to in the Tundras of New England has been at the Orpheum in Boston, the Living Room in Providence (it used to be off of Rathbone St), Foxboro Stadium and Misquamicut Beach. But never when it was the Providence Civic Center, and not since I’ve returned to the Tundras of New England. Weird that…

Also the noxious smells I’ve had to endure in my neighborhood have calmed down. While the fumes haven’t abated, it seems that one of the neighbors farther down the street had complained to the police again, and I’ve seen patrol cars at the car wash pulling out and pulling over the various flatbeds and car carriers that fly down the street to the junkyard at the end. Not only have they slowed down their mad dash down the street, but they’re also not stopping on this end to stink up the area with over-rich carburetor fumes and carbon monoxide. I still think that they should be using the Valley Street entrance to the junkyard given that most of Valley St is considered zoned commercial (rather than residential), but that they’re no longer flying down the road and not idling outside of people’s houses is certainly a plus.

I’m really beginning to like my neighbors here. Sure they pretty much keep to themselves (a good thing given the years of busy-bodies I’ve dealt with in some suburbs), and I rarely if ever see them out on the street (another plus as I often like the feeling of desolation when I step out for various reasons), on their porches or generally socializing among themselves… But they don’t put up with any of the guff that seems to go on from the businesses in the area and will snap down on them whenever they can. I’d give ’em a round of applause or even shake their hands if I were to actually see them outside.

After that… it’s been the usual calm and quiet. I’ve been talking with Glenn a lot since we reconciled. Admittedly he has a lot of issues to work through and a lot more things that he needs to come to grips with, but from my perspective it’s been pretty promising. If anything I find him to be both more open and more receptive to talking about the problems than he did when he was in his relationship with Sam. God it’s such a mess there… All I know from personal experience is that it’s going to take time, energy, effort and nurturing from family and friends to get him through most of it. I’d talk about it here — but given this also posts publicly, it’s not my place to. That’s something Glenn’s going to need to talk through — if he ever makes the decision to post any of it publicly.

Well that’s about it for the time being… Until the next time.

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