dreams and teeth marks

As I neared home tonight, Jess called and told me that the CO2 alarm had gone off.

"What do I do?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said. It's one of those things in life that might be obvious to some, but I've never had to think about it before. I called my brother, and then Jake, from the jiu-jitsu school, my go to guy for anything involving brokeness and leaks and machines.

*

A female police officer parked outside, and she waited with us while the firetruck came. A small group of firefighters, all but one shockingly young to my eyes, appeared with hats and meters and flashlights and went into the basement, where they detected a slight level.

It took some time as they went around and made sure. They petted the cats. They looked around with a heat camera.

It seemed that trace levels were leaking back in through the vent.

*

An hour later, the firetruck arrived, with all the same people as before but about six more, and this time they practically broke the door open.

"We heard about your high levels of CO2 and rushed over."

"High levels?!?" Jess asked, looking at me.

I shrugged.

Before the night was over, the water heater was disconnected and we are once again without hot water. I worked a ten hour shift today. I was even going to write an entry tonight about how bad I smelt. I know because I was in small rooms all afternoon counting brass pipe fittings.

The confusion came because they got a reading of 17, but this somehow got communicated as 17,000, putting us on the road to death.

But they noticed the sorry state of the water heater, which is now leaking full force. One of the firefighters was also a plumber, and he explained that our heater is working all the time because of the leak. Additionally, he felt that the vent pipe was partially obstructed.

Earlier today, I was scrounging around trying to figure out how to meet a Monday car payment I can't afford. Now I'm looking at a heater and repairs. That's the bad news. I'm uniquely situated to take care of it. After all, I work in a warehouse that sells waterheaters and can buy them at cost. But still.

As they firefighters left, one of them said, "And you should probably get those stairs fixed, too."

*

I had a few truck runs early this morning, most of which were spent dwelling on the quiet melancholy of the road as compared to the sense of dread resulting from the economic news. From the driver's seat, not much has changed. But I can sense something else on the roads, even as I sit, isolated. The highways are life some parts removed -- with mostly the radio to give me a sense of connection. But I couldn't help but see all the cars and think: which are the ones who are suffering and jobless and desperate? Who, driving by me now, is doomed?

I drove to my mother's home to grab an armful of books, hoping to get in some reading. I left for work at six and got home at six. After dealing with the fire department, and then cooking some chicken and cleaning, and then dealing with the fire department again, and then shopping for food for next week, it's brought me to the time now, almost ten. I need to get up at 5:30 tomorrow morning to go to work for inventory.

It doesn't appear that there will be much time to read. Or do anything else, other than work and try to be optimistic in the face of diminishing returns.

Jess is sick. She thinks she might have strep throat. Tonight is the night when the Dufflebag gets to stay up late. He's watching a generic comedy on tv and laughing loudly.

*

When I finish writing, I need to mop the kitchen floor. The firefighters tracked in some mud from the rain. And this despite their best efforts -- I noticed them all trying their best to wipe their feet before entering.

So yeah, to the mop. Here's my sole attempt at meaning making for the day, and it's necessary, given the situation.

*

Here's Vic Chesnutt. Maybe you've heard of him.