a year of silence

2/24/14

  I am sacrificing a lot more than my voice in order to follow through with my year of silence.
  I live in the basement of an apartment building that is somewhere between fifty and three thousand years old. Outdated wiring, cracked walls, unreliable heating and jurassic plumbing are just a few of its antiquated charms. Last night the kitchen sink backed up for the millionth time, with what appeared to be some other resident's bathwater.
  I could easily have called the emergency number provided on the lease for help. But since this was not an emergency situation that involved the safety of another living being, and i alone was being affected by this fountain of sewage, i didn't make the call.
 On my knees, rubber gloved, with rags in hand, i cleaned up the mess. Why is it that the things we most love and deeply believe in, inevitably bring us to our knees?