After about two hours at work yesterday I decided to call it a 'fuggit day'. I hate wasting vacation days, but there comes a point when you just cannot force yourself to stay at work. I was just sitting there watching the screen waver in front of me, and I snapped at one of my coworkers. Normally I like snapping at them, but I felt the way I acted yesterday was uncalled for. So I dragged myself home.
Even though I had slept almost all day Sunday I fell right into the bed and slept another day away. It felt heavenly. Later on I got up and had some soup and garlic bread for lunch, then went and lay down in the sunroom and watched the rain. I then fell asleep again. When I woke up several hours later I had that slightly sweaty slightly relived feeling I get when a fever breaks.
One of my toilet's brains exploded yesterday. That is the little control mechanism found within the toilet tank. An aged piece of plastic had shattered, filling up the tank with no overflow control. I walked down to the tub room to see a big spillage of water creeping across the room. To my surprise, I was not upset. Compared to the great shit explosion that I had gone through in the past, this was nothing but a little clean water. I shut off the toilet and put my super fan on the carpet. It's currently drying it out nicely. I'll pick up a new toilet brain this weekend, preferably a smarter one.
We have a tropical storm squatting over Florida right now like a big wet sponge. Actually, it's rather nice. It's brought the heat down from a blistering 95 to a cool 75. I actually had my a/c units shut off last night. The outside world has simply become soggy, however. Wherever you step a little squishy sound is heard. Even on the concrete. All my cats were in the house last night because it was too wet outside for their catty sensibilities. They ended up annoying me, rushing around the house, batting each other, and yowling for food when their food bowl was clearly full. Brats.
I looked out the window and saw Hitler-cat huddled against the rain. Poor cat.
I just looked in my lunch bag in the fridge here at work that I packed yesterday morning when I was not thinking too clearly. It contained a microwave meal, a pickle, and half a wedge of cheese. Heh. Mmm. Cheese.
I was thinking about corn last night. I want some. Its currently corn season and I want a half a dozen big 'ol ears all hot and freshly cooked and slathered in butter and salt. Yum. I did not go to the Zellwood corn festival this year. Apparently it's gone downhill. People waited in a long line in the sun to get in, and they charged an outrageous 25 bucks to get in. The Zellwood festival used to be about free corn. 25 bucks a person is not free corn. It's really not anyone's fault, though. The festival used to be have dozens of farms in the area donating extra corn that they grew. Now there is only a single farm supporting the festival. No wonder they have to charge 25 bucks.
No surprise to me. Nothing is free.
2026 Update
I'm dialing June 2006, where Ed's fever breaks, a toilet brain dies, and free corn costs twenty-five bucks.
I still respect the fuggit day, but the fuggit day has been colonized. Back then you could snap at a coworker, drive home, and sleep for sixteen hours without proving anything to anyone. Now your phone has already told three apps where you are, your boss wants a doctor's note by 9:05, and your out-of-office message has a palm tree emoji. The toilet brain was a stupid hunk of plastic you replaced for pocket change; now the toilet itself has firmware, a Wi-Fi module, and an update that will brick the lid unless you subscribe to Aroma Assist. And weather: a tropical storm squatting over Florida was 'rather nice' because it dropped the heat to 75. In 2026 that same storm gets emergency alerts, flood insurance premiums, and an influencer live-streaming himself standing in a puddle. As for free corn, dozens of farms used to donate extra ears. Now even corn has been elevated into an experience, with a corn-themed escape room and a gate fee that could buy a small used canoe. Nothing is free, Ed. You packed a lunch of a microwave meal, a pickle, and half a wedge of cheese, and in 2026 that would be called self-care and cost thirty dollars.
“2006 Ed, when you stood over the flooded tub room and felt calm because it wasn't your earlier disaster, did you realize that's not a high bar? And did the smarter toilet brain ever arrive, or was it just the same aged plastic with a new sticker?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2006 Ed: So, Beelzebubba, yeah, I know, that’s not exactly a high bar. But after the Great Shit Explosion, I’ll take any flood that doesn’t smell like the devil’s outhouse. Clean water creeping across the tub room felt like a vacation. I stood there with my super fan and thought, “This is fine.” So maybe my standards are broken, but I’m okay with that. As for the smarter toilet brain—ha. I still haven’t bought one. I went to the hardware store, stared at the little plastic gizmos, and left with a bag of corn and some cheese. Right now I’ve got the old brain rigged with a twist tie and a prayer. It’s holding, sort of. That’s probably how I’ll die, honestly, drowning in a toilet tank because I was too cheap to spend nine bucks. Take that, foul plumbing.
