I suppose it’s good that they live outside of me instead of inside of me…? But it still sucks, and it might actually be more difficult to rid myself of them than if they just lived in, say, my intestines. I’ve been getting a bite here and a bite there for a little while. I had a few bites at once a couple of weeks ago and began to suspect something worse than a solitary spider, and then my landlady sent around a note mentioning “Denver’s bedbug problem,” which of course tactfully meant “our building’s bedbug problem.” So this week she and an exterminator checked it out, and sure enough, we found one of the little creatures under my box spring. This, my friends, is not good.
I’m freaking out. I feel like a leper. I’m only slightly comforted by the fact that the cleanest, tidiest person I’ve ever known ever (freshman year roommate) is the one person I know who’s suffered from bedbugs. They are like mosquitoes — mosquitoes don’t really consider your personal hygiene or social class when they decide to feed on you. They care only that you have tasty, nutritious blood. Which I apparently have.
Anyway, dealing with this is a big pain in the ass. It’s like moving because you pretty much have to move everything you own out of the closets and away from the walls… But at least you don’t have to travel up and down stairs with all of your furniture — just your clothing, which must be washed — every last bit of it. I’m taking the opportunity to weed my closets and bookshelves, something I’ve been meaning to do for a while. Ugh. It’s just icky.
The 150 Project isn’t going well this week. I’ve had to launder or dryclean everything. I’ve bought things like rubbing alcohol and spray bottles and garbage bags. I haven’t eaten at home. I don’t have to pay for the exterminator (as far as I know), for which I’m thankful. Stress leads me to self-medicate, mostly with food and alcohol. It’s kind of a “fuck-it” week. I’m glad there hasn’t really been any retail therapy, but even so, I’ve blown the budget this week. Sigh.