Omigodwhatthef*barbecue, my life is like a scene from a bad cross between a black and white, Hitchcock interpretation of a Kafka short story and the second version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The heater broke – again. For those who are keeping count, this would be the fourth time.
As we asymptotically approach the point at which we will not need a heater for roughly a decade, the heater increases its daily cost of operation through a clever series of sequential breakdowns. It's like the Tin Woodman cutting off parts of his body and replacing them with their metallic counterpart. By spring, we will have replaced the entire heater organ system and have nothing left of the original device.
And of course the weather, to celebrate the collapse of temperature inside the boat, has once again chosen to plummet. My daughter moaned this afternoon, “Why does it always snow when the heater breaks?” Why ask why? my darling child. Because it can. Because it must.
Because apparently the gods have decreed that things absolutely must get worse before they can possibly get better.
What I can not for the life of me figure out is why the refrigerator keeps turning on. All I can assume is that the heat released by the decay of 2 month old vegetables in the corner at the back that I can not see, smell or reach is great enough that it elevates the temperature inside the unit to above 45. I suggested to Dr C last night that we just leave the damn door open from now on so we wouldn't have to listen to the pump grind away. The salon had to be colder than the inside of the refrigerator, saving us both money and ensuring a better night sleep.
You think I might be jesting? I am prone to exaggeration, no question. However, this morning the salon thermometer read 38 degrees. Perhaps, Dr C is right. If we open the refrigerator door at night, it's possible all our vegies would freeze. Shutting the refrigerator door is a last ditch attempt to keep the contents warm.
As we asymptotically approach the point at which we will not need a heater for roughly a decade, the heater increases its daily cost of operation through a clever series of sequential breakdowns. It's like the Tin Woodman cutting off parts of his body and replacing them with their metallic counterpart. By spring, we will have replaced the entire heater organ system and have nothing left of the original device.
And of course the weather, to celebrate the collapse of temperature inside the boat, has once again chosen to plummet. My daughter moaned this afternoon, “Why does it always snow when the heater breaks?” Why ask why? my darling child. Because it can. Because it must.
Because apparently the gods have decreed that things absolutely must get worse before they can possibly get better.
What I can not for the life of me figure out is why the refrigerator keeps turning on. All I can assume is that the heat released by the decay of 2 month old vegetables in the corner at the back that I can not see, smell or reach is great enough that it elevates the temperature inside the unit to above 45. I suggested to Dr C last night that we just leave the damn door open from now on so we wouldn't have to listen to the pump grind away. The salon had to be colder than the inside of the refrigerator, saving us both money and ensuring a better night sleep.
You think I might be jesting? I am prone to exaggeration, no question. However, this morning the salon thermometer read 38 degrees. Perhaps, Dr C is right. If we open the refrigerator door at night, it's possible all our vegies would freeze. Shutting the refrigerator door is a last ditch attempt to keep the contents warm.