I'm done with talking about physical therapy, more importantly I am so done with going to physical therapy. I have an appointment on Monday to see the actual doctor, doctor. I plan on impressing my thoughts of physical therapy on him, the goal being to try and get him to order up an MRI on my knee. The x-rays that were taken were less than helpful, as a mater of fact they did more damage. "How so?" one might ask. Well as it turns out the x-rays showed three other future problems with my leg, but none of them have anything to do with my current knee injury.
So since I do not want to talk about physical therapy anymore, lets talk about how the house almost caught on fire, and probably taken most all our possessions with it.
I have a love hate relationship with my house, I love that it shelters the family from the rain, stores all of our junk, and creates a tax write off. I hate that it has sub-par plumbing, the electrical wiring it crap, and that we have a jury rigged washer dryer setup.
When I was a kid I vividly remember a moment in my life that was literally burned into my brain. There was a fire at my house in Phoenix, it all originated in the laundry room with the dryer. The details as to how it happened escape me, but the images and smells stuck with me. The damage to the house with very minor.
Just the other day I had Duncan change the laundry as it is his chore to do so. What I did not know and Duncan failed to realize was that as he was transferring the clothes, he moved a couple of pillows, one of which had broken open in the wash. So he moved the damaged pillow into the dryer. The filling from the dryer clogged the filter, and began to collect on the back of the drum. As the dryer heated up, it began to fuse the loose fibers together, and melt. The dryer stopped just before the melted goo could start on fire all the way, but it was close, and far closer than I am comfortable with.