Today was not a good day in new-old-house-land.

Upon arrival, I went to turn on the new kitchen lights. I mistakenly flipped the switch for the garbage disposal—that’s going to take some getting used to—but it didn’t turn on anyways. And neither did the lights.

A little electrical super-sleuthing and I had my culprit: I have bad electrical karma. I knew that even considering leaving a splice without a junction box the other day would get me intro trouble. I did take the extra time to avoid it, but the mere consideration was damaging enough. I will never again contemplate the necessity of 300.13 (A) “Splices or taps are prohibited within raceways unless the raceways are equipped with hinged or removable covers,” for my problem is tucked away within an ill-advised junction box, hidden inside a wall, behind a cabinet, its sole purpose being to torture me.

But that was just the beginning.

Trips to the basement revealed a vinyl window that, left open in the wind, had nearly torn from its frame (Is re-replace a word?), my first sighting of a live mouse in the house, another gigantic spider lurking in my tools, which for the first time, I killed (premeditated and in cold blood), and water.

The water came in two varieties. That which was already there (of which there was plenty), and that which arrived while I was present. It arrived via two main vectors: a sort of Niagara Falls down the bulkhead door steps, and a squirt gun effect out of the walls (seriously—like shooting out a foot from the wall). Let's just say the trouble-spots have revealed themselves.