Monday, November 9, 2009


Snowball and I discussing the workings and malfunctionings of our toilet device,
in 30-something degree heat. We also hate the heat and want to move to the snow.

Over the last three years, Mum and I have lived in four difference houses, and four different toilets have died on us.
In the first house, we lived in Cabbage tree Creek, our tiny little paradise in the mountains. Due to living so far away from the the nearest town, our sewerage ran into a septic tank.
For three weeks, I walked around with my head in the clouds, complaining that something had crawled beneath our house and died.
For a following two weeks, Mum insisted that someone had died in the house at some point, and the smell must have gone through the floorboards.
A week later, our landlords nextdoor smelt it, and decided it's a serious problem. When seeking deeper information, Mr. Landlord found that treeroots had penetrated our septic tank and had caused a leak, along with a back-up. It was seriously gross.
When we moved, we managed not to break my Aunty's toilet. When we finally got our own place in Port, we had two toilets - "Number One" and "Number Two's".
I broke the glass seat on Number One, coming home from a drunk expedition to release the alcohol consumed; I cut my arsecheek on the glass stuff, and still have a scar today. All I remember, was running out to Mum squealing, "MY ARSE! MY ARSE IS BLEEEEEDING!"
Not long after, the pipes on both Number One AND Number Two started to leak. We didn't think much of it until it started to smell bad. We called the plumber, and the day that he was mean to arrive, the Number Two toilet backed up completely. I woke up, went into brush my teeth and was standing in ankle deep toilet water. I freaked; I lost my shit, no pun intended.
After the plumber fixed those problems, we never had another issue. Until we shifted again.
The first two weeks of living here, in our cosy new house, our toilet won't flush. At all. There's a blockage, and we can't fix it. We called our Landlord, we called our plumber, and no one wants to fix our toilet. I mean, I have to walk across to the KFC to go take a dump. It's terrible. I'm at the point of being so lazy, I'm thinking of just digging a hole in my backyard. Forget fittness from walking the kilometer it is to the street, I don't care about fitness; fitness doesn't make me feel good and it certainly doesn't give you the magical feeling of "just going".
The toilets been like this for nearly two weeks. I am getting weird looks from the people in KFC, who see me walk past almost everyday to use their toilet. I'm pretty sure they think I'm a home-toilet-aphobe; some kind of freak that hates using her own toilet or something.
In actual fact, I love my toilet.
When you're on the toilet, its basically the only time that no one can bother you. You can sit down, read a book, chill out, have a cry - whatever.

Please, Mr. Plumber-man, I miss my toilet-time.