November 9th, 2008


Home discomforts

It feels as though the house is falling apart in sympathy with my body, or my body is falling apart in sympathy with the house, or perhaps we are bound up like oak tree and ivy, growing and decaying together.

My tonsils swelled to clog my throat (antibiotics have helped, but I am still full of cough and cold), while the drain in the bathroom sink filled up with grime until it couldn't swallow anything either. I spent my two days off work shivering with feverish cold, while the boiler constantly hovered on the brink of not working, the pressure gauge always reporting near-zero, the house never quite heating to a comfortable temperature (despite the double glazing fitted earlier this year) without the use of the electric fire. The switch for the electric shower stopped working (though it was replaced). The sealant around the bath has decayed again (though my grouting seems to have mostly survived).

About a week ago, the inner oven door spontaneously shattered (the light indicating that the hob is switched on had long since crackled and popped into oblivion when it got water in it); my stomach hasn't been well for a few months now, forever crackling and popping in its own horrible ways, though nothing has yet exploded.

If once a month the house starts to hurt all over, it manages not to complain. The lock on the front door is sometimes as stiff as my back, though, and the noise from inside and out probably means that the house never sleeps properly either.

And nothing will ever conclusively fix either of us: we will just go on patching things up around the edges until we move, or stop moving.