Why I hate pipes

What follows is one of the last sentences you want to hear from the emergency maintainence man who is inspecting the pipes in your bathroom:

"What the hell?"

So aparently, after some tweaking and the removal of a hair barrette, I will no longer have the neighbors' bathwater coming up my sink. This is good, because I'm tired of cleaning my sink every day to remove the crust of shaved off hairs and dried up blue bubbles. I'm also tired of waking up in the middle of the night and scooping up still warm bathwater to keep my tiles dry. From what I hear, the barrette was returned to the neighbor who lost it.

Unfortunately, I now have water on the bathroom floor, coming from what can only be the Biblical "fountains of the great deep," since I cannot detect an alternative source of the flooding. I called maintainence again; since it's a slow sort of flood, since it's a flood with no discernable origins, since the real plumber might be required to fix this new flood, and since they've been over here once today already, we decided to sit tight and watch it. I've mopped it up, and have towels on the floor where the water was deepest. I'll check it often, and if there is more water, I'll call emergency maintainance, and they'll have the plumber out first thing in the morning.

In short, yikes. At least Charlotte lets me know when there's water to be mopped up. Stupid cat loves to drink filthy bath water, and I am attuned to her when I sleep. Just as with Drizzt (the kitten who just didn't work out) and the wall sratching (signal that he'd just left a present in the corner), I blink wide awake when I hear her lapping up water.

And that's it for now. My mapping is nearly done. I ran into some problems, and now have a clear way ahead. Just going to wait until it's light out and use the window to copy stuff onto a new sheet.

End.