Tuesday, July 22, 2014

In which everything goes to hell (again), depression occurs at inopportune times, and I have realized I don't want to own any more possessions than what will fit in my car.

Turns out my cats did not have fleas.

My f*cking apartment did.

I had this whole long thing I had started to write, but I really don't have the energy, so here's what's been happening in the exciting life of Mich:

- I have more or less moved back in with Mumsy. Until last weekend, I had not returned to the hobbit hole for two weeks.

- On Sunday, I discovered there are so many fleas in my apartment, you can't go inside for more than 5 minutes without coming back out COVERED in them.

- My landlord says he didn't see any fleas at all when he went in. He therefore refuses to do anything other than spray some (non-toxic) stuff. Which means everything in the apartment is now garbage because he flat out refuses to bomb it.


- Following that conversation (during which landlord also hinted that I may not get my security deposit back), I turned into a hysterical sobbing mess at work.

(- Several minutes later, I had all four attorneys in the building come into my office telling me to calm down because I work for lawyers and obviously this sort of behaviour from landlord will result in a huge motherf*cker lawsuit.)

- My ability to cope with things in general died by late afternoon. Attempted to drive up to church to help out with VBS (which doesn't end until Friday), but only made it as far as some commuter lot off 17A and cried for like an hour.

- Emptied my purse and evaluated all the pills in my possession. Contemplated taking all of the xanax and valium. Sat there debating it for half an hour before deciding not to because I didn't have enough pills to kill me.

- Arrived home at 8.30. Mum has decided I need to go back to the shrink.

- Dadum and Stepmom called and asked for landlord's number, because obviously they're not treating their tenants right and it's time for Your Father to take care of things.

(-Stepmom believes men should always handle crisis-type tings. At the present time, I agree with her.)

-Today I just feel tired, and numb (possibly a result of the xanax--I have started taking it regularly so as to deplete my supply in an attempt to avoid taking all of it at once). 

- Hobbit hole situation is now in the hands of Dad, who is trying to get landlord to agree to have an exterminator of our choosing come in and evaluate the flea situation. We will go forward from there, based on landlord's response.

This blog is probably going to go quiet for a while. I don't know for how long.

Thursday, July 3, 2014

So you're going to a cemetery with your toothbrush... How Egyptian.

I'm having a rough time y'all.

So after the mold was removed and I had [mostly] recovered*, I returned to my hobbit hole last Tuesday evening, absolutely over the moon to finally be home.

And then I noticed there were more than a few spiders and millipedes wandering around.

I killed the millipedes and ignored the spiders. I figure that living in a hobbit hole as I do, I simply get more than the average number of bugs. Plus the place had been vacant for over a week--I had to deal with the same thing when I first moved in. I presumed that just like then, the bugs would feck off after a couple days when they realized someone had moved back into the house.

On Wednesday evening, I discovered a number of dead fleas on the kitchen counter, in the spot where Harleyquinn sleeps**.



I somehow managed to keep myself from flying into a blind panic. I had not found any live fleas, only dead ones. I had never noticed fleas before. Idk how long the cats had fleas. I had put the Revolution flea stuff on them on Monday night, and I guess I was finding dead fleas because Revolution actually works and apparently the Hartz crap you can get at the supermarket does not.

So I doused my home in flea-killing stuff and did some seriously intense cleaning, and have not seen fleas since.

But the millipedes seemed to have increased in number.

In general I am not squeamish with bugs, but there are a couple of exceptions. Millipedes fall into the exception category.

Over the weekend, I Raided the outside of the house, and inside in the spots where I assumed they were finding their way in.

Even more millipedes started wandering about the place.

Monday, I put down poison stuff in all the doorways and windows and pretty much every single possible place I could think of that might be a potential entrance spot.

Tuesday night, I realized that pretty much every single moment spent in my home over the last 7 days had been spent flying around the house swearing up a storm and going through hundreds of napkins and tissues and paper towels destroying every millipede I saw and I SWEAR THEY'RE LIKE THE FUCKING HYDRA YOU KILL ONE AND THREE MORE APPEAR.

Then yesterday morning at approximately 4.30 AM, I went out to the bathroom.




I spent like 15 minutes killing all of them. After that I threw up for the next 5 minutes because I was actually that disgusted. I attempted to go back to bed since I didn't have to get up for another 3 hours, but every time I closed my eyes, my head was filled with visions of tons and tons and tons of millipedes, which just made me terrified that they would reach the bedroom and eventually the bed, which made me feel nauseous again.

At 5.30 I gave up on sleep and got up, fed the cats, and could not eat breakfast because of course the kitchen was full of mothereffing millipedes and I felt double-sick.

So I got dressed, packed up my belongings again, got the kitties into their cage, and am back at my mother's house. AGAIN.

I called the landlord to tell them. They tried to tell me this is *normal* for this time of year, but they would check it out. Today they called to inform me that they allegedly did not see any bugs at all in my hobbit hole.


I feel like it has been one thing after another since I moved into the hobbit hole. But I love my hobbit hole. Like seriously I LOVE it. I can't afford to move into another apartment. I can't move in with Dadum (for more reasons than I feel like listing). I really really really really really really really don't want to move back to NJ (especially after the epic hassle I went through tochange my car, license, insurance, etc over to NY).

But after some complaining and some thinking, I feel like maybe it would be a good idea to move back in with Mumsy. Right now I'm really struggling to keep up with expenses, and to be honest, it's a fight I'm losing. And if I continue living in this way, I will never do anything else with my life. If I move back in with Mum, I can actually start saving money, and perhaps pursue all the things I would really like to pursue--mainly going back to school, and moving out to Colorado.

I'm not happy about moving back to NJ, but I think I'm okay with it. We shall see how things go..........

*As recovered as I was going to get because seriously I love my mother dearly, but there is a reason I moved an hour away from her.

**Not only have I given up trying to keep the cats off the counter, I have now placed a bed in HQ's fav sleeping spot.