Paranoid (Alternate Title: Serves Me Right)

I'm a worrier, everyone knows this.  I like to have all the angles figured out and know what I'm going to do if any number of things happens.  I try to prevent bad things from happening if I can by being extra careful and terribly safe if I can be/know how to be.  I try not to, but I'm always reading cheap magazine articles about what foods cause cancer and which ones prevent it even though I'm convinced that even oxygen is contagious these days.  I've tried to slack up and not worry so much, but old habits are hard to break.

Since our water leak we've been particular about potential water problems down the road.  The inside of the cabinets under the sink and underneath the countertops where water might run off and drip are going to be polyurethaned to maybe help prevent the inevitable moisture from causing this problem again.  Our bathroom floor is going to be tile because wood definitely wouldn't work since Boots slings water like a buffalo when he showers.

This morning we went to Boots chiropractor appointment and then grocery shopping at Publix.  I vacuumed the sawdust out of the pantry cabinet when we came home and put away our foodstuffs while Boots ran out to get a haircut.

This is the kind of junk you eat when you don't exactly have a functioning kitchen. 

I started a load of dirty towels and got a little happy with the vacuum, going to town on all the crumbs and dirt spread out on our beautiful kitchen floor.  I thought about how our lives would be different since the flood.  Different in the respect that we'll be extra scared to run a load of dishes in the dishwasher and just go to bed.  Will we even hook up our next fridge's icemaker or will we make ice the old fashioned way with trays?  Our clothes and dishwashing schedule will have to work around one of us being in the house and awake since they can't possibly be trusted not to ruin the floors.

Its not a good feeling to be thinking about future water leaks and then look up and see one.  My stomach turned over and I ran like a mad woman for my cell phone and some dry towels.  I wiped water up with a fury and dialed the number.  Boots finally picked up the phone the third time I called and I screamed in a panicked voice, "The wash machine is leaking water all over the floor!"  Terror makes me incomprehensible so I had to tell him twice more before he got the message.  Boots hurried home and I photographed the damage.

I had planned on writing a post on what might happen if the floors got wet and experimenting the damage on a scrap board.  Don't guess that's necessary now, huh?

We pulled the wash machine out of its cubbyhole and turned it back on, watching for more water.  We searched for leaks with a flash light and checked all the hoses, but couldn't find the problem until Boots checked the other side of the wall inside the shed.

We have a leak!  Boots is planning to weld that little drippy section so I hope that works.

Oh, boy.  Our Tara feels like the Money Pit these days.  Does it pay to worry?  You decide.