My world, which has always been claustrophobic, has been shrinking even more these last three days. With no heat in the house other than the space heater, I hardly moved off the couch yesterday. I even "slept" there last night — which accounts for the stiffness, soreness and absolute bone-searing weariness I felt all day today.
With the heater on full blast and a blanket pulled around me, I coped tonight by curling up even more. Now I'm taking up half the couch, and if I don't get my furnace fixed tomorrow as promised, I'll probably slide down between the cushions with the stale popcorn and the rusty old pennies. I haven't eaten anything that I couldn't eat on the couch, or anything that kept me away from my cozy nest for more than a minute. This explains the salsa stains on my sweatshirt and other wardrobe embarrassments.
As always, I'm hopeful. The landlord and his helper were here for an hour and a half this afternoon. While I sat and watched football, they cut a hole in the wall in the loft, between the closet where the furnace is housed and the outflow vent. That was the only way they could get to the electronic igniter, which was finally determined to be the culprit.
"There's no way we're gonna get another one of those today," he told me. Tomorrow, he promised, and I believe him because that's the kind of person I am.