friday, january thirteen, two thousand seventeen
early (ish) this morning i awoke with an urgent need to pee. so i pranced my way down the hall and into the bathroom, sat on the commode, and relieved myself of the pressures the night had pressed. i felt a drip from above. oh dear! a leak! i called the landlord who called the handyman, who promptly arrived five minutes later. yay! it’s nice to see some promptness! he had his assistant watch the leak as he flushed the toilet of the apartment above mine. he watched as a cascade of poopy water fell with rhythmic grace from the ceiling, each splatter accentuating precise quantum subdivisions inspired by the pure patternings of earth’s gravity upon the toilet; upon the walls; upon the floor. luckily i had thoroughly cleaned the bathroom last night, so that the poopy water met its canvas in clear contrast. art imitated life, which imitated art, which imitated imitating itself! such profound truths found in base banality! the handyman’s assistant wanted to ensure that i owned a mop, because i was about to need one. how kind of him. the handyman recommended, however, that i await the plumber’s work, else i may end up mopping all day long. how wise of him. oh gracious lord! if this be just the start of my live long day, what spectacular wonders, what sublime aesthetic levitation awaits your humble servant when she shall take leave of her apartment? let me toss aside this diary and partake of the bounties that life has to offer in this sacred harvest preceding the darkness of february, forthwith! here, time is not mine to waste . . . its waste possesses me!
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