Retribution of a sort

Monday I posted a blog about terrorists getting their due. Then it would seem that the terrorists got back at me.

Half an hour before going home for the day my wife calls and says the washing machine is not spinning, can I take a look at it. I take the look. Then I grab some tools and proceed to figure out what the problem is. It has to do with the brakes, they won’t release the drum. No problem I just take the motor out, pull out the gear box, reseat the brake pads and replace whatever part is bad right?

Well, in an ideal world that is what I would have done. In the real world I loosened the screws on the gear box and it suddenly dropped two inches then the brakes fully deployed and locked in the cylinder. I could not get it out, or in, or even jiggle it in place. I was two hours into the repair and my bum shoulder was killing me. At that point calling in a professional would have ended up costing more than a new washing machine. And I did not want to explain how it had ended up in so many pieces and then deal with the inevitable sneering and “You should’ve called us from the beginning, we could have fixed it in half an hour.

Depression set in. In the back of my mind I think of the harsh words I had for Megrahi and his ilk and wonder if they had something to do with the death of my washing machine. For what may well be the first time in my adult life, I gave up and said “Forget it!”

I determined to just replace the whole machine the next day. After a night of sleep and nearly forgetting the turmoil and depression of the night before I go to Home Depot and get a really good deal on a nice cherry red washer and dryer set with no interest financing and free delivery and setup. I’m in a good mood again.

Then I go to dinner at one of my favourite restaurants with a friend last night. Apparently the Libyans were not happy that I fixed the machine the night before and they decided to poison my dinner with salmonella or some such vile evil. By the time I get home I am starting to experience waves of dizziness and freezing chills coupled with a compelling urge to stay very near the toilet all night. At one point the dizziness over came me and between episodes of liquid rapidly evacuating all intestinally connected portals on my body I passed out for at least ten minutes. When I awoke blood was smeared across my hand and nose from what I assume to be a spontaneous medieval bleeding performed by my subconscious.

I spent the night in a daze of quasi-hallucinogenic dreams wondering if I should wake my wife to take me to the hospital but choosing instead to continue my conversation with the blue rabbit and the pancake bush.

By this morning I pulled out of the haze and now weakly sit in my comfy chair debating on eating this delicious smelling squash gruel my wife made to help settle my stomach.

I don’t know though…she doesn’t look Libyan…but maybe they’ve replaced her.

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