Our house

A haiku for my life the past few weeks:

The cursed house has
struck Fickle pilot light
I miss hot water

I think the ghost of the day-laborer who died while working on our plumbing is haunting us. Or at least, if I really believed in ghosts, that’s what I’d suspect.

I wanted to stay in this house until I bought a new one, but this water heater situation is the last straw. I took two mornings off from work last week for the plumber and our problem is still not solved.

Yesterday afternoon I hit my head on a shelf really frickin’ hard while turning on the pilot light (for the umpteenth time) to the water heater. I went back to my bedroom and cried.

This is not good.

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