Yesterday it was the beautiful, clean, northern stretch of the Hudson River that was up to my knees. Today it is a river flowing from the blighted downstairs bathroom of our 100+ year old home. This morning as I moppped up what I can only imagine is cheese, I struggled to keep from adding a large puddle of my own vomit to the vile, wet mess. We have an intern from the theatre festival staying with us. I am gathering from her reaction to my apology that she would not be able to shower this morning, that she has never in her golden haired New Canaan, Connecticut existence had to cope with raw sewage. I am teetering on the very edge as I sit…