Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Independence versus the Disposal (And a Row80 Kick-Off)

July 1st.  Already, I hear fireworks in the evenings, the odd pop-crack of premature celebration.  Independence day is on the horizon.  Despite the heat, so heavy, so pervasive, there's a sense of recognition, of excitement at the thought.  Independence day.  Fireworks.  Sparklers.  I am too old for both of them.  And yet...independence day.  The very thought makes me want to stand up and do something bold, something daring.  After all, I am a young (relatively) American woman.  Good job.  Good education.  I can do anything.

Except fix a garbage disposal.  Yeah, that's definitely enough to kill the burst of independent pride.  A muggy damp sink, swirling gray water full of...stuff.  That dank, sour smell. 
It is at times like these that I envy my married counterparts.  After all, isn't plumbing the guy's domain?  The stopped up toilets, jammed disposals, malfunctioning whatsits hidden behind various cabinet doors?  If that seems a little antiquated, I'm sorry.  Truth be told, I'd gladly foist the task off onto any capable person, man or woman, willing to work for free.  My sink is an equal opportunity employer.  But, given my own reticence, I suspect only the bonds of matrimony could inspire anyone - male or female - to voluntarily stick their arm into the stink.
In the wake of that lovely discovery, writing has taken a momentary backseat.  After all, I had to try to fix it.  Independence day is coming, my friends!  Was I going to admit defeat?  Was I going to back down before the great swirling stink?  Well, as a plumber-husband hasn't spontaneously popped out of the void, no, I suppose not. 
I tried all the quick fixes I knew, stuck broom handle, then hand into the yick, pressed the reset button, bought an allen wrench.  Really, it shouldn't be that hard to locate an allen wrench in a Home Depot.  And if it hadn't been ten minutes to store closing, I might have been a little more miffed with the lackluster customer service.  But, as a former retail worker, I hated me a little.  So no bigs.  They get a pass.  Yes, I'm skimming.  No one wants to hear the down and dirty of sink maintenance.
Long story short?  I got the water to drain but that's it.  The disposal is on strike.
What does all this mean?  I have no clue.  Only that I started the day with all sorts of ideas regarding its close.  I would launch my canoe into the lake of Camp Nano.  I would outline a series of very small, very do-able Row80 goals.  I would try to level in Magic Spreadsheet.
Now I'm struggling to get the bare minimum in.  My arm still stinks of disposal despite multiple washes and I want to go to bed.  But this is important.  I will get it done.

Row80 Goals:   

250 words a day, one submission to a magazine (or other publication per month), twice weekly blogs.  Oh yeah, and a garbage disposal.  No deus ex machina a la the magical plumber-husband.  Just me and my tools and the internet.  Wish me luck people!  


  1. I always said if I married, I wanted to marry a plumber. I married someone else instead, but he knows the plumber's phone number.

    Best of luck with your disposal. I wouldn't have a clue about how to start. But you sound determined, so I'm sure you'll get it done.

  2. After sending egg shells from two dozen eggs down the disposal and seeing my sink back up just two hours before family arrived for a large celebration, I can surely sympathize with that clogged sink. But both my hubby and I looked at each other with dismay. Many are called; few are chosen. Plumbers. Writers. We each have our chosen vocation. I admire your aspiration and hope that darn sink is soon fixed. So you can return -- still respecting your independence -- to the writing and your lovely, focused goals: 250 words a day, a sub to a magazine somewhere, and blog twice a week. May the goddess of sinks smile on you! Write on!