Artist in Residence: The Quarantine Diaries

Episode One

I found out the other day that William Shatner has taken to posting Kirk-style ‘captain’s log’ type entries to instruct, educate, and entertain the fans. His first one:
“Captain’s Log: Stardate 1 of self-imposed isolation. After having arrived at Planet Home, I was warmly greeted by Emissaries Espresso and Macchiato. I look forward to my planned respite from my normal duties. Kirk out.”
Someone else memmed earlier that they would consider themselves not “quarantined at home” but transitioning to the role of “artist in residence” (although others said that “exiled for the good of the realm” sounded THAT much better…)
So here I am, Artist in my own Residence, and I’ll try to amuse entertain or otherwise distract you for a little while.

How I drowned the bathroom

I set out to do something as simple as washing my (very long) hair. My shower is a contraption that has a fixed showerhead (for showering) and then a side-attached hand-held shower which I fondly assumed would be the instrument for my intended activities. I knew that there was a problemlet with water escaping from joints and I had taken SOME action to alleviate that by liberally applying silicone tape which was supposed to be waterproof and waterproofing – but I knew there was an issue.
The thing is, when the lateral spraying was occurring before (as I was informed by my husband who was using both the fixed AND the handheld showers while taking his showers) it was contained to the inside of a shower-curtained bathtub. I was now in a different situation, because the shower curtain was pushed to one side, and I was bent over the side of the tub head down trying to wash my hair.
When the bath towel draped over the shower curtain rail – which ought to have been perfectly safe – began DRIPPING on me I woke up to the fact that I had a problem. Just how big a problem I realized a little later – because my now clean but still very wet hair was wrapped in a towel turban, and I had to spend half an hour MOPPING UP THE BATHROOM. The dripping towel was soaked as was the bath mat. The cabinet where all my hair things live was wringing wet and every single item on the top shelf was  literally dripping when I picked it up. The shelf itself was awash. The DOOR was wet; and the dressing gown hanging from the back of it was wet. EVERYTHING was wet.
To be perfectly honest, I haven’t actually gone back to check yet. I may need a diving helmet to do so. But it is clear that the shower picked a fine time to fall apart on me. Would a plumber – if one becomes necessary – even come out right now? and if they do what kind of king’s ransom would they demand from me?
My hair’s clean for the nonce, and if you JUST run the fixed shower head and not the handheld it seems to function reasonably well. But this is something that I am going to need to address at some point and I am so WRETCHEDLY not a handy(wo)man. The Artist in Residence is going to have to be practical and figure out how to take showers without turning the entire bathroom into an aquarium. I can’t be with mopping the entire bathroom every time hubby or I step into the bathtub. Something will have to be done. Why do I feel cheated, like I was supposed to be given a chance to just do creative things without anyone expecting me to be anywhere or do anything else… and here I am, watching plumbing put a spanner in the works.
This crisis is hauling out the unexpected in us all. What is coming around the corner…?


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