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A Loathsome Place Of Mine

There is that real special place you most dread to go.

You hate it; it's OK to admit it. You despise it; loathe it with a depth of emotion that words cannot fully convey.

It's wretched, wretched place. Go ahead, admit that it exists. Think about it; feel it.

There. I can see the shiver that just went up your spine.

What was yours?

Delivering a speech with the piercing eyes of the crowd focused on you?

Watching a chick flick/mindless action film with the other half?

Sadly-no matter what it is-it seems as though that which we dread or despise the most frequently befalls us; and that place which we do not want to go, we nonetheless find ourselves going.

My place of disdain is the crawl space underneath the house. Yes, I know, you wonder how it could be that bad-but remember this is my nightmare.

First, just to get to the far end of the crawl space (the worst of the worst) where plumbing problems are most sure to occur, I must scrunch up and (walk?) like a crab where there is the most space, then crawl about like a toddler as the vertical space shrinks, and then, in the tightest of tight spots, soldier on the belly over the red, Buckingham dirt.

Most recently, I had to go there. When there's a clogged drain, there is little option. Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.

This wasn't the best time to traverse the land down under-not that there really is any good time, but when it's warm (unlike, say winter) things are moving about. Not that I'm particularly worried about spiders (though a facial of webbing is rather unpleasant), but I really wouldn't want to crawl into a long reptilian sort of thing whether it's poisonous or not.

I'd personally rather be at Freeport Bahamas. As I close my eyes, I can hear the waves somehow washing through my mind over the whoosh of the air conditioner in the newsroom. I'm relaxed there-without a care or bother. Perfect sky. Perfect water temperature. Perfect beach. Yep, much better than the crawl space.

Or, how about the kitchen window from the home where I grew up. It's a frosty winter morning as I wipe the dew with my finger. Outside, is a wonderful snowy wonderland with no fresh tracks. Inside, it's nice and toasty next to the heater vent. Yes, I know its summer now, but there's no school or work to focus on, only time.

On this day, I had to play the drain game.

Sometimes you just have to stand up and crawl.

I wish I could tell you that the actual experience wasn't as bad as I thought going in. No, there weren't any snakes, but the level of dread was enough to start with, plus I compounded the problem by breaking the pipe.

What's worse than having to go to the most dreaded of dreads? In my case, having to crawl out from under the house and back again and again.

Wonder how much a ticket to the Bahamas would cost?