One journalist's musings about the beautiful, bizarre world in which we live
You know how people often say, “Things can’t get worse?” And then they do? It has certainly been my life as of late. Feels like a horrid comedy.
It started with the news that my mother had cancer.
A few weeks of hell later, turns out it wasn’t, thank whatever godlike thing exists to keep the cosmos aligned.
Then, I moved into a new house, an undertaking that is stressful enough. Now add bedbugs.
You see, I know when bedbugs are around. It’s not just the bites. It’s the sneezing. The itchy throat. The general malaise. I don’t just get itchy bites from bedbugs; I get allergic.
Okay, okay – it ain’t so bad. Although I couldn’t be home to bring my mother chicken soup when she had her non-cancerous growth removed, at least it was non-cancerous and my other siblings were around. And at least I have kind friends who will let me stay at their houses while bedbugs were in mine.
Then I fell off my bike. Onto my nose. Wasn’t broken, but it certainly felt like it was.
Then my toenail fell off. Extremely gross, I know.
Then the exterminator told me he’d need to exterminate again; it wasn’t just bedbugs in the house. He said there were chiggers, wasps, spiders, bumblebees – the list continued. It’s just an infestation mess reminiscent of 391 Sunnyside. Even has the animals walking into and out of the house like they own the place.
“Okay,” I thought. “It really isn’t that bad. It’s just bugs.”
This week, my cat got sick. He somehow managed to get something stuck in his mouth that punctured the side of it, and ripped his cheek a bit. My poor Poley.
Yesterday, I went to the Lac La Biche Mission to work on a story about the librarification of their rare book collection. I was there for two hours, learning about the Mission and the library. While in the library, I was bitten on the eyelid by a black fly.
It swelled up so much that I couldn’t open my eye this morning. Just before I went to get two cavities filled.
“Okay, okay,” I thought again. “It will all be okay. All this will heal.”
Fast forward to this evening. I’m working on my stories (as I was at the dentist all morning and didn’t get a chance to then).
I call up the part-time worker who’s working on the library.
“Yeah, about that,” she says… or something like that. “We’d really prefer if you held off on that. Say, until the end of October? Does that work?”
That does not work. I spent an entire morning interviewing your staff and the next day recovering from your pests.
That does not compute.
A few items of value against a wall later, I’m home. Haven’t even had a beer – cold things hurt my new fillings.