“Come and listen to the story about a man named Jed,
A poor mountaineer, barely kept his family fed,
Then one day he was shooting at some food,
And up through the ground came a bubblin crude.
Oil that is…black gold…Texas tea.”
Did any of you absolutely love the “Beverly Hillbillies” when you were growing up? I adored them. They were sort of a bunch of dumb-ass’s which reminded me of my family without the whole country hick thing going on, but the world they were living in was magical, and a far cry from the little town in Iowa I lived in. On any given episode you could see shots of marble floors, elegant staircases, a crystal-clear pool in the backyard, men in tuxedo’s, women in gowns, and all behind the doors of a grand house that sat on a perfectly, manicured lawn. That’s what money can buy you, I would think to myself. That’s what being an author can get you. ((sigh)) Sadly, that dream never made it to fruition. I don’t live in a grand house, but rather an old farmhouse I call my hovel, because it’s badly in need of repairs. Anyone else have plaster walls? They suck!, huh? My lawn is not perfectly manicured, and in fact, my son and I keep joking that it’s slowly disappearing. Part of our property looks like a little forest that is overgrown with trees and vegetation. My husband can’t get in there with the riding mower, so he just mows as close to it as he can. Lately, it appears that he’s mowing less and less of it, almost like he hopes we’re not going to notice ‘the forest for the trees’ or something. Well, you know we caught him, cause we’re not blind! I don’t wear designer gowns, and the closest I might get is the night-gown I wear while lounging in bed. There are no marble floors, but ones that are sorely in need of stripping and refinishing. I never finished any of the manuscripts I started for fear I would be laughed at, never became an author, never made a fortune, and never touched anyone’s lives with my words. The story of my life has been about ‘nevers’. But hey, we did find a bubblin pool in our back yard yesterday!
Now before any of you get excited thinking The bitch is rich, and we’re all going to meet and vacation in Fiji together or some shit, I’d better set you straight. Not only am I a poor bitch, but an unlucky one. I couldn’t be lucky enough to hit something like oil. Oh no…in fact the opposite of making money is true. What we found a bubblin was water. Who knows how freaking much this problem in going to cost us! My husband is positive that this is the reason our cistern keeps running dry in a day, but I’m not so sure. Oh, I agree there’s a leak coming up from where a pipe had been repaired a couple of years ago, but that’s an awful lot of water leaking from the cistern. I mean a lot of water! Wouldn’t the whole yard be one, damp, soggy mess? Worst yet, if it is the problem, this pipe is right behind our house…so where’s all that water going…under the house?
I’ll be really honest, I don’t need this shit right now. I’m emotionally at the end of my rope with this house and marriage. It’s not a stretch for me to say that I’ve literally, LITERALLY, gone without water in this house for a good two years in the six and a half I’ve lived here, if not more. For nearly four years straight during the winter the pipes froze; and I mean we had no water in the kitchen at all for two to three months at a time, and would go weeks without water in the bathroom. We would have to do our bathing and laundry elsewhere, and live out of jugs of water. A couple of those years I ran out of water and had to melt snow to do my dishes. Do you have any idea how much snow you have to melt and heat to fill up two sinks with water? It’s insane! That’s not even counting the problems with the water we’ve had at random times with the pipes, the well, etc. I went three months one summer without water at all. I MEAN AT ALL! The well went down, the motor and pump had to be replaced, then there was a leak in the pipe in the yard and my husband spent forever digging to locate it. It was madness. Is it any wonder now I’m cringing at the thought of more repairs? Likewise, my marriage. Without going into details I’ve exhausted a million times before, let me just say that it too is leaking (all the good stuff out), and is sorely in need of repair.
So anyway my friends, Pissy has the entire day off from housework, because the cistern was dry again and the old man shut the jet pump down so it wouldn’t burn up trying to run before it fills. Don’t ask me what all of that means, because I don’t exactly know either. I was a city-girl, remember? I can’t do dishes or laundry, which doesn’t give me a helluva lot else to worry about, does it? Now, I could probably sit and pout all day, fretting over this ill fortune, but I think not. I did enough of that over the weekend, didn’t I? No, I think Pissy is going to pop the tab on a cold one here real soon, and cram her pasty, aging ass into a bikini and hang out in the yard. You know, I used to hate it when people would give me that bullshit about “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade” crap. WELL, I’D NEED WATER FOR THAT, WOULDN’T I? No, I rather like the caption I read on a t-shirt I found on Ebay not long ago. One, I might add, I’m fully intending on purchasing. It simply reads “When life hands you lemons…shut up and eat your fucking lemons!” Yeah, this I can do without water. If push comes to shove, Pissy will mix em with beer!