I have two toilets upstairs in my house, one in my parents room and another just outside my room, my toilet.

Because my observant mother noticed an ever growing dark patch on the ceiling just above the dining table, she called the plumber to come down, and yes, of course, there was a leak in the toilet upstairs that was dripping down to the ceiling underneath.

And so they began their work. Initially it was just my toilet, so I was relegated to bathe in my parents toilet (with no water heater mind you), so I had to bear with the initial wave of cold much akin to the feeling of the first shower blast on a hot sunny day before jumping into the pool. Stark contrast. But anyway, I survived. And now, as I am writing this, I can feel the reverberations of them drilling in the walls of the toilet, changing the sink which was old and needed to be changed as well…

(This is much like going shopping just to buy a pair of shoes but coming home with shoes, clothes, bags, tops, dresses, skirts)

Well anyway, new sink, and new tiles for me in the toilet. And I have had to cancel my meeting in the afternoon because the tiles in my parents room are still drying, the sink in my toilet is being changed, and so I can’t bathe in time to get there.

HAHA.

The Sanguine part of my personality which renders me unable to keep my room clean for any extended period of time has been suppressed for the moment, because i am proud to say that I have spent 2 days of time (the first, cleaning my tables and shelf, and the second, clearing my wardrobe) cleaning up my room. Of course, nothing could reach the pristine standards of my dear mum (Choleric-Melancholy), whose melancholy nature needs to ensure that everything is kept spick and span (one of the aspects of her personality as a parent says “Always picks up after kids”, which she found hilarious). But anyhow. I am proud of my room. Something tells me I had better take a photo of it while it’s still in a good state. All in a day’s (ok two) work.