I spotted the damp patch a while back, you know? Just a sort of discoloration on the ceiling in the guest bathroom, kinda near the vent. Maybe… three months ago? Four? I dunno. Time gets a bit blurry sometimes, especially since I got out. It was small, not even really wet to the touch, just a darker shadow. And I thought, "Huh, that's not good." And then I did absolutely nothing about it. Because, well, that's what I do, I guess. It’s not like I don’t have enough on my plate, with work and keeping the house from falling apart and all. So, I just sort of… mentally noted it. Tucked it away. Then last week, it decided to stop being subtle. I was getting ready for work, half-asleep, and I heard this kind of *schluuuurp* sound from the other end of the house. Like a big, wet burp, almost. My first thought was the dog, honestly. But then I went to check, and there it was. Not a patch anymore. A full-blown, sagging, pregnant belly of drywall, straining under the weight of whatever was up there. And then, *sploosh*. It just… burst. Water everywhere. Not a torrent, not a flood, but enough to make a real mess, you know? A proper hole, grey and crumbling, like a cheap cake. I just stood there, staring at it. My first reaction wasn't even panic. It was just this weird, flat calm. Like, "Oh, *this* happened." It should have felt worse, I think. More frustrating. But I just felt… tired. Like, another thing on the list. Another thing I let get out of hand, because I couldn't be bothered to deal with the small stuff when it was small. It’s like when they tell you in basic, "Don't let the little things slide, 'cause the little things become big things, and big things get people KILLED." Not that a leaky pipe is gonna kill anyone, obviously. But the principle, you know? Same damn principle. Called the plumber. He came over, looked at the ceiling, looked at me, and said, "Looks like this has been going on for a while." And I just kinda shrugged. Told him, "Yeah, I guess so." He gave me a quote, shook his head a bit, and now I'm waiting for him to come back and fix it. And it's gonna cost a lot more than if I’d just called him when it was a patch. Probably double. Maybe triple. And the drywall guy, that's another thing entirely. I don’t know. It’s just… it feels emblematic, somehow. Of everything, maybe. All the stuff I just let simmer, let get worse, because it’s easier to ignore it until it’s screaming at you. Like I’m still waiting for someone to give me the order to fix it. But there’s no command structure here, just me. And I’m really bad at giving myself orders sometimes. So now I have a hole in my ceiling, and a much bigger bill, and a sort of… quiet understanding that I kinda brought it on myself. And it doesn't even feel that bad. Which is probably the worst part, I guess.