Water Heaters and Volleyball

It happened Tuesday night. I was cold, and in desperate need for warmth. Armed with the brilliant idea of taking a bath, I stepped into the icy cool of my bathroom, intent on drawing one. When it was filled up, I shed my clothes, and stepped into the water that must have been a degree above freezing.

My water heater was broken, and it was winter.

Was I going to cry? No. Did I want to? Not yet, but I knew that it would soon become a likely outcome.

So the next day, I tell my supervisor, who calls my landlady. It turns out that the water heater is an oil burning heater, and it was simply out of oil. Praise be togod! Two days later, the warm water returned. No more showers at Nick's house. No more mornings of feeling cold, and staying cold. Life is, officially, ok again.

Last night, I went to the Obaa-san (grandmother) Volleyball game. There were very excited to have me, but curious to why I didn't play. I forgot the word for clothes, so I couldn't explain that jeans and a sweater were hardly athletic clothing. Also, Volleyball and I, just simply don't get along. It hurts the arms, and more importantly, it incapcitates ankles very easily. So, instead I watched, which is something I enjoy doing. I did not bring my camera because I thought it might make them uncomfortable. But, I think next time I think I will.