I Am In Hell.

The AC here didn’t get fixed — it apparently overheated. On the form the repair guys for the apartment complex left, there’s a series of checkboxes for what work they actually do while they’re out.

One of the checkboxes is “Replaced flux capacitor”. That cracks me the fuck up.

But it doesn’t make it any cooler in here. It’s really just like hot as hell, like 90º at 5 am. (It’s also 5 fucking AM. Thanks, insomnia!)

And they’re turning the water off at 8:30 am for the whole complex. Apparently this is to fix the bizarre problem that this apartment (and apparently all of them) has: there’s no cold water.

I shit you not. The water that comes out of the tap is either hot or really hot. Not even lukewarm. The toilet water is hot. I swear to Christ. Sitting on the toilet is like treating your rectum to a day in a Turkish sauna. My ass is actually steam-cleaned and moisturized now. It’s a completely inappropriate sensation.

Anyway, they’re fixing this, for an indefinite period of time. The flyer they stuck to the door actually says “The water will be off from 8:30 am until whenever the Water District decides to turn it back on.” It doesn’t say “So fuck you, then,” but it might as well.

So I can’t sleep, because it’s like trying to nap underneath the engine of a running semi truck. (I have difficulty sleeping unless it’s actually cold and humid in a room. I’m like fucking Gollum.) And I can’t hang out here today anyway, because there won’t be any water to splash on myself to keep myself cool when the sun comes up and it hits 108º again. When that happens, taking three or four showers a day is the only solution. I got back last evening and I was covered in oily sweat within twenty minutes. It was disgusting. I felt like Mickey Rourke.

Plus maintenance guys are showing up to do bangy, crashy things with the AC.

At least I got my laundry done a few hours ago, so I won’t look and smell like Gary Busey’s ass as I haul my tired, sweaty, sunburnt ass out of the house in a few minutes, to walk down to the Coffee Bean and await its opening. Which won’t be for at least an hour, hour and a half. But once the sun rises it’s going to turn into fucking Dune both outside and inside, and at least there I’ll have reliable wifi.

Anybody wanna hire me at a lucrative web design job so I can go get my own apartment — maybe something with a reliable source of running water and AC to keep the Mojave at bay? I swear to God, it’s like I’m living in Tijuana, except without the cheap drugs.

I think I’m wrong. I think there is a God. And I think he thinks I’m Seth Rogan.

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