Thursday, July 28, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Silver Lining
That's a nice phrase, silver lining. Except, of course, when you're instructed to go hunting for it under the cloaks of suckiness swathing your life.
Nevertheless, I've informed myself, sternly, that I will seek out the shiny stuff and huff it until I'm silver in the face! Or something. To wit: here are the good things about sinking your life savings into a house containing a raging and seemingly ineradicable (we are one month and three exterminator visits in) flea infestation:
1) No house I've ever lived in has been this clean. Seriously. There is no dust. Anywhere. My dust allergy has gone into remission. I go to bed every night on freshly laundered sheets. No crumbs between the couch cushions, no spiderwebs, no gunk on the floor. I'd eat off that floor. Except that, you know, it's been doused in insecticide.
2) I can eat anything I want! When I remember to eat! So far, I've consumed an entire jar of JIF creamy peanut butter, forty-seven lattes, toast, and a whole lot of ice cream. All of this due to a bracing new fitness regimen comprising 60-90 minutes of daily vacuuming, followed by several hours of standing and staring at my feet. Vacuuming is hard. It is no wonder our grandmothers were thinner than we are.
3) I'm getting out of the house. A lot. This is probably the silveriest of the silver linings. I'm an inveterate homebody, and it's frequently been difficult to pry me away from my books and my tea and my comforts of home to face the wider world. Not so now! Since the battle was joined, I've been seized with irresistible urges to go on walks, frequent coffee shops, go out to eat, help other people move house. I've toured the botanic gardens, the art museum, Colonial Williamsburg, the beach, historic churches, the club district, the capital, the moon.... Okay, not the moon. But I've been out and about. Which is a big change, for me. I'm not really getting any work done, but I've seen some very pretty flowers.
4) If this ever, ever, ever ends, I will be pretty damn happy. And I will make myself a very, very, very large, very very silvery gin and tonic. Here's hoping.
Nevertheless, I've informed myself, sternly, that I will seek out the shiny stuff and huff it until I'm silver in the face! Or something. To wit: here are the good things about sinking your life savings into a house containing a raging and seemingly ineradicable (we are one month and three exterminator visits in) flea infestation:
1) No house I've ever lived in has been this clean. Seriously. There is no dust. Anywhere. My dust allergy has gone into remission. I go to bed every night on freshly laundered sheets. No crumbs between the couch cushions, no spiderwebs, no gunk on the floor. I'd eat off that floor. Except that, you know, it's been doused in insecticide.
2) I can eat anything I want! When I remember to eat! So far, I've consumed an entire jar of JIF creamy peanut butter, forty-seven lattes, toast, and a whole lot of ice cream. All of this due to a bracing new fitness regimen comprising 60-90 minutes of daily vacuuming, followed by several hours of standing and staring at my feet. Vacuuming is hard. It is no wonder our grandmothers were thinner than we are.
3) I'm getting out of the house. A lot. This is probably the silveriest of the silver linings. I'm an inveterate homebody, and it's frequently been difficult to pry me away from my books and my tea and my comforts of home to face the wider world. Not so now! Since the battle was joined, I've been seized with irresistible urges to go on walks, frequent coffee shops, go out to eat, help other people move house. I've toured the botanic gardens, the art museum, Colonial Williamsburg, the beach, historic churches, the club district, the capital, the moon.... Okay, not the moon. But I've been out and about. Which is a big change, for me. I'm not really getting any work done, but I've seen some very pretty flowers.
4) If this ever, ever, ever ends, I will be pretty damn happy. And I will make myself a very, very, very large, very very silvery gin and tonic. Here's hoping.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Hemorrhagic
Bleeding money right now, not only because we keep paying through the nose for ineffectual flea exterminations, but because I've taken to spending all my waking hours at coffee shops in an attempt to escape the constant, crazy-making vigilance that is my home life. I literally spent an hour and a half today staring at my feet before wresting myself away and hieing myself to the local joint.
Would everyone in my position be made this insane? I kinda doubt it. Every day, amongst our six billion souls, there are probably thousands skipping blithely down their flea-infested, larvae-ridden stairs. My husband, he of the temperament of eternal sunshine, is nonplussed. But I am seriously deranged.
Want to lose weight? Try constant nervous nausea! Want to keep a clean house? Try vacuuming obsessively for two hours a day! The good news is that I've finally shed the last of the Christmas cookie weight. The bad news is that I'm a ragged, hollow shell of myself.
My rational brain has some perspective. It could be worse; many folks have bigger problems; this isn't the end of the world, etc. My reptile brain is informing me in no uncertain terms that I need to quit my job, quit my marriage, move back to Indiana and live with my parents or possibly shoot myself because I AM UNDER THREAT.
There's really no talking to the reptile brain. We are who we are, at some basic level, and some of us are firmly convinced we are subject to predation. How do you speak to the portion of yourself that does not deal in words?
Please send smiting thoughts my way.
Would everyone in my position be made this insane? I kinda doubt it. Every day, amongst our six billion souls, there are probably thousands skipping blithely down their flea-infested, larvae-ridden stairs. My husband, he of the temperament of eternal sunshine, is nonplussed. But I am seriously deranged.
Want to lose weight? Try constant nervous nausea! Want to keep a clean house? Try vacuuming obsessively for two hours a day! The good news is that I've finally shed the last of the Christmas cookie weight. The bad news is that I'm a ragged, hollow shell of myself.
My rational brain has some perspective. It could be worse; many folks have bigger problems; this isn't the end of the world, etc. My reptile brain is informing me in no uncertain terms that I need to quit my job, quit my marriage, move back to Indiana and live with my parents or possibly shoot myself because I AM UNDER THREAT.
There's really no talking to the reptile brain. We are who we are, at some basic level, and some of us are firmly convinced we are subject to predation. How do you speak to the portion of yourself that does not deal in words?
Please send smiting thoughts my way.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
DIE
Struggling a little bit right now. The house we bought turns out to be top to bottom infested with fleas, (thanks, previous owners), and our efforts to eradicate them have so far been largely unsuccessful. I am basically reduced to covering my entire body in white spandex and spending hours staring at my feet. I have also discovered the pleasure of watching something small and alive thrash and then drown in a bowl of dishwashing liquid, which does not particularly reassure me as to my basic humanity.
[Die. DIE. Die.]
We've been in the new house two weeks, though I've been away for much of that time. I haven't unpacked a thing, but have instead given myself over entirely to plotting the demise of arthropods. I'm starting to hate the house, which is not really a good way to commence owning it, and I'm unable to snatch more than a couple of hours of sleep.
All of which is totally crazy-making. Maybe I will go live with the fellow under the bridge for a while.
[Die. DIE. Die.]
We've been in the new house two weeks, though I've been away for much of that time. I haven't unpacked a thing, but have instead given myself over entirely to plotting the demise of arthropods. I'm starting to hate the house, which is not really a good way to commence owning it, and I'm unable to snatch more than a couple of hours of sleep.
All of which is totally crazy-making. Maybe I will go live with the fellow under the bridge for a while.
Friday, July 8, 2011
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