“That’s Mom. She gets LOUD when she’s hungry.” Then she just continued drawing, utterly unfazed.
“I’m not crazy!” I hollered to no one at all, still sawing through my last pipe. Squeaking, grinding. Grinding, squeaking. The sewer drain sloshing.
Writing this down didn’t help at all. I thought it would give me some kind of perspective. Purge me of what terror I now harbor in the depths of my soul. Allay the guilt.