Home alone

It rained so hard yesterday that the windows near my office were shaking and the windows themselves were leaking. All I could think about was how wet the basement probably was. We finally put the stupid sump pump away about ten days ago and promptly received the most astronomically high energy bill I’ve ever seen. Sump pumps apparently eat up a lot of energy, especially when they’re running 24/7. Who knew? But now, the specter of fishing the pump out of the utility closet, duct taping hoses together and snaking them out the window, all by myself. If the water was really high, I’d have to mop and towel and sweep it away alone. For some reason this thought totally overwhelmed me and so I avoided the situation entirely by heading to yoga class straight from work. Afterward I was too relaxed to care about flooding—or maybe I just inhaled too much incense. When I finally got home, the cats were hungry but dry-pawed and there was a bit of water in the basement but not nearly as much as I’d feared. No pumping necessary. I almost opened a bottle of wine just to celebrate out of relief, but held off when I realized that wine plus yoga dehydration probably wasn’t a good combination.