My Cup Overfloweth

Well, not my cup, exactly, but my bowl.  My toilet bowl to be precise.  Chalk it up--two times in a month that the toilet has overflowed to the point of an inch of water on the floor in the potty alcove before we got a handle on it.  By "we", I mean "I" of course.  Several buckets, many towels, a few tears and cursings later and the bathroom is pine-scented fresh.  And I'm exhausted.  I'm tired of being a grown-up.  I want someone else to deal with the overflowing toilet and the dishes and the cooking and the ants and the weeds, and the lawn and the grocery shopping and the bills and the insurance companies, pest control companies, the doctors offices and the pharmacies and the litter box and the garbage . . . I'll stop, but I could go on.  I really could.  Whining is something I'm very good at.  Oh, and self-pity.  That's one of my many talents.  That and unclogging a toilet.

p.s. Since we're discussing overflowing,  I've lately been struck by the oft-unsung verses of the hymn
How Firm A Foundation:
Verse 4
When thru the deep trials, I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not thee overflow,
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee, and sanctify to thee,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

Verse 5
When thru fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace all sufficient shall be thy supply
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume, thy dross to consume
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.


I hope my river of sorrow doesn't overflow like my toilet, because I still have lots of dross . . .