Once we moved everything, and waited for the inevitable, I busted out my handy Flip Video and documented...well, my idiocy.
Ah, if only I had a brain.
We spent the next few days watching the water and making sure the sump pump didn't overheat and and cause a fire. The pump is old—at least, it looks old—and probably hadn't come on once in the five years I've lived in the house, but from Sunday through Monday and into Tuesday, the pump was running nearly nonstop. It would shut off for no more than thirty seconds at a time. Despite the constant smell of burning plastic, metal and grease, it worked like a champ—in that part of the basement, anyway.
Wednesday and Thursday were spent sucking the water out of the carpets with three wet/dry vacs and removing all the damaged boxes and things that we weren't able to move in time. And not to mention "battling" (i.e. making the lady-friend deal with) a horde of vicious, poisonous spiders.
And so here we are, Friday at last, I'm back to work, and this week's word count is holding steady at a whopping zero. Nil, yo. Nil!
So it looks like this coming Sunday will mark the new Day of Change. And hopefully, you know, it has to do with writing and not another catastrophe. (Puns about my writing being a catastrophe are hereby outlawed.)