It's 8 am on a friday morning, and I'm sitting in my dining room watching snowflakes form, drinking coffee and listening to the dandy warhols. All of this is stuff I never do before 10 am, and certainly never at home. These are activities best saved for the office.

My mornings at home usually consist of sleeping in late, showering super-fast, grabbing a piece of fruit and getting out the door a shade before 9.

But today, though, here I am. There is a backhoe in my front yard and I'm here to "supervise" a team of guys who for the last half hour have been trying to figure out how to get a 15 foot pipe into my 5-foot cold room. Now, on occasion, this might be comical, like one of those skits involving how many people you can stuff into a clown car, but today, oh TODAY, it's not funny. They need to figure this out. They're here to bring me water. Unfettered, unleaky water pipes, which is good.

Since we moved in in August, there hasn't been a shower where I haven't cursed our low water pressure, and the fact that there is a window in the shower (brr). It's especially cold now that winter is here. The city says that our street has above average water pressure. My showers, however, say otherwise.

They have yet to start digging, and I'm not entirely looking forward to them digging up my lawn, except that it'll save me some work come spring, when I turn the whole thing into a garden anyhow.

So...water. In under 8 hours. Now if only I could get the cat to be less excited about the doors opening and closing it would all be good.

Update: There is what sounds like a lot of water currently GUSHING into my basement. Temporarily. And more specifically, into buckets, not just flying around uncontrolled. But, "it's all under control", so they say. All under control. Slosh.