Starting Out

The furnace at my apartment shut down a couple of days ago when the water level in the boiler got to low. I added an inch or so and the thing fired up so that my elderly mother could stay warm during her visit. The day after she left, the water supply went berserk flooding my apartment and wreaking havoc on the downstairs flat. "I took hundred gallons out of basement," my Syrian-American landlord lamented. .... This was a few minutes after I arrived home at midnight from a late shift. "Do me favor," Mr. Assad asked. "Call me if furnace go off. OK?" ...

... All right.

If it's just me, I'll freeze to death and wait for him to restart the furnace. But if my guests are either youngsters or oldsters, I'm gonna put the heat on. ...

It goes off about once a week, sometimes more during the winter. And every year in the spring, the exotic dancer who lives downstairs does a month's worth of laundry at the same time, and somehow clogs the drain. Then the basement floods -- about 12 inches deep in sewer water, and soaks the lower level of my book boxes.

"Are these boxes financial records or trash?" Mr. Assad always asks after the flood -- not being a book lover. Or understanding a book lover. ....

The insurance adjuster and Mr. Assad dropped in Saturday morning. Another one will come by next week. ....

Meanwhile, what to do today, Sunday, before I go to work at 3 p.m.? ... Go to the 11 a.m. Unitarian Church service a psychic friend suggested?

Clean up the detritus?

Or go to the gym?

My young boys, Augustus, age 9, and Samuel, age 7, and their friend, Jared, laughed at how much weight I've gained during the past 2 years.

Having been a fat boy and "complete dork" in high school, I've since taken pride about staying in shape.

Until now. The last 2 years, since the boys' mother dumped me and moved an hour away, I've gained 25 pounds and can't shed it.

Never before.

The Effexor doesn't help. I'm starting to believe the Effexor is making me fat. Time to detox.