In the seven months, we have lived in this house, we have had:
- the gas fireplace red tagged and permanently shut down
- the gas tubing replaced for the range
- the range replaced
- numerous small plumbing jobs
- some shit I can't even remember
- UPDATED: oh yeah, the defroster went bad and broke the fridge. Which we repaired instead of replacing.
And that's in addition to the things like getting rotten exterior wood replaced and rim joists re-hung.
Last night we noticed that familiar gas stink. We tried to blame it on Turtie, the neighbors' turtle we're watching, but ended up calling the gas company this morning.
There's a leak in the main fuel line, which has to be replaced. So, for the rest of Labor Day Weekend, that means no hot water. And no cooking on the new all-gas range. And god knows how much that will cost, or how long it will take to get someone out. At least, unlike all the other jobs, this one is not the result of somebody's stupidity; it's just a very old gas line come to the end of its life. But honestly? I go to sleep worrying every night about what else will rot through or erode or be eaten by insects. I love the way the house looks, but I hate its guts.
One of the enormous elms out front, with the canopy that reaches across the street, is looking sick. The plumbing in the downstairs bathroom works but is making suspicious noises. We had some money set aside to weatherize the house better for winter, but dollars to donuts that's going to have to fix the gas line...so we can spend the winter pumping gas through it to heat the sieve of a rabbit hutch of a house.
Home ownership as the American dream is a lie. It's a scam. So is natural gas and electricity. I want a straw bale house and a solar cooker and a year's supply of pemmican or something. And some skills to go with all of it. And maybe some whiskey.
At this point I would settle for just the whiskey. And a little engraved plaque to remind me: "Never Ask 'What Else Could Possibly Break?'"
Happy Labor Day Weekend, y'all.