Reason #267
I have now been living in my extremely humble abode for over two and a half years. I may have made mention of the fact that I received a delightful Christmas present from Excel Energy on Dec. 21 of this past year in the form of an electricity bill covering the entirety of the aforementioned residency. Or perhaps I didn't bring this to light? I am too lazy to go back and check. Anyway, after some terse words with customer service and extensive consultation with the consigliere (and eldest sibbling), I am on an awesome (not awesome) payment plan to take care of that little issue. And they don't take credit cards. That actually was supposed to be a single-line intro, but, as I said-- too lazy to see if I've already expounded on my recently discovered delinquency.
Anyway, the other day whilst attempting to draw out the 5 minutes of the day during which I am actually warm (In the shower), I began to ponder the amount of condensation that routinely builds up on the mirror, fixtures, and walls in my bathroom. I have always thought that the very regular rain drop patterns that streak the walls every morning were far in excess of what would be considered "normal" and "not Heaven for mold," and decided that perhaps it was time to check on the ducting situation behind my throaty, healthy-sounding exhaust fan. A preliminary, first-order test involving a piece of toilet paper and the precarious support of my legs over the tub-to-vanity expanse foretold the dubious news. Upon finding little to no suction, I pried off the paint-ensconced grating and dutifully wiped it dust free. I then removed the fan and fan motor, again removing years of caked on shower goo. Finally, after assuring myself that the fan was in good working order and not the cause of the daily rain forest translocation, I swung my flashlight northward to get a glimpse of what I expected to be an exceedingly gross and clogged duct. But that is not what I saw.
What I saw was a sealed metal box.
For over two and a half years I habitually and ignorantly started an audience-free, quick-moving Art Deco carousel within the ceiling of my bathroom under the pretense that it would somehow frighten away the water with it's guttural groan. And now I get to pay for it.
Reason #267 why it is time to go.
Anyway, the other day whilst attempting to draw out the 5 minutes of the day during which I am actually warm (In the shower), I began to ponder the amount of condensation that routinely builds up on the mirror, fixtures, and walls in my bathroom. I have always thought that the very regular rain drop patterns that streak the walls every morning were far in excess of what would be considered "normal" and "not Heaven for mold," and decided that perhaps it was time to check on the ducting situation behind my throaty, healthy-sounding exhaust fan. A preliminary, first-order test involving a piece of toilet paper and the precarious support of my legs over the tub-to-vanity expanse foretold the dubious news. Upon finding little to no suction, I pried off the paint-ensconced grating and dutifully wiped it dust free. I then removed the fan and fan motor, again removing years of caked on shower goo. Finally, after assuring myself that the fan was in good working order and not the cause of the daily rain forest translocation, I swung my flashlight northward to get a glimpse of what I expected to be an exceedingly gross and clogged duct. But that is not what I saw.What I saw was a sealed metal box.
For over two and a half years I habitually and ignorantly started an audience-free, quick-moving Art Deco carousel within the ceiling of my bathroom under the pretense that it would somehow frighten away the water with it's guttural groan. And now I get to pay for it.
Reason #267 why it is time to go.
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