The unbearable rightness of peeing

Actually it is totally bearable.

The building where I work has about 30 to 50 men’s rooms. I can use four of them. Ten percent, not bad, you say. But it is bad. The usable four are on the floor I was on and the floor I am on. If I am anywhere else, it is a trek to an accessible bathroom.

For instance, I was in the “war room” today on another floor. I have asked that this room be renamed to something less militaristic. People laugh, but don’t seriously consider my “peace room” plan.

Anyway, it is way on one side of the building. About an hour into my work there, I realized a trip to the facilities would be most welcome. But I only had a half-hour till I went home, and going to the bathroom would take close to that half-hour because I’d have to go all the way back to the elevator, ride it to my floor, go to the bathroom, check to make sure wheelchair stall is both empty and unclogged, use the bathroom, return to the elevator, go to war room, get my coat and leave.

I did not choose that path, hence the glory of peeing when I got home.

Separately, my condo company is letting me down. After the first snow a few weeks ago, the workers cleaned the curb cuts without me asking them to. It was the first time they did that in the five years I have lived there. Should have known it was a fluke. My mom was out at my place today to pick up some stuff. I have been staying with my folks since the big storm. None of the curb cuts are clear. Jerks.