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I don’t feel good today. Don’t know why, exactly… just tired, grumpy, generally out of sorts.

Ok, I do know why.

This morning when the alarm clock went off, I felt like I had just fallen asleep. I had stupid-crazy dreams all night, despite the Rozerem, and couldn’t believe it was already time to get up. Stumbled to the bathroom to take a shower, and was deterred by a ruckus in the kitchen. Went to check it out – a gigantical freakin’ ugly-ass cockroach had crawled across Susanna’s foot, and she was murdering it, thus causing all the racket and commotion. What the hell?!?! I’ve never, ever, not since college dorm life, had roaches. I HATE cockroaches. HATE THEM. Despise them. Loathe and detest them. Snakes are the only thing I hate more. They’re creepy, crawly, nasty creatures of the underworld. Tom told me that cockroaches are the only living form that can survive an atomic blast. Thanks, Tom. So how the hell am I supposed to get rid of the disgusting suckers? And I read this horrific story once about a woman who had a pain in her ear, and went to the doctor, only to discover that a cockroach crawled into her ear, laid eggs, and the pain was being caused by the eggs hatching. My ears have been feeling crawly and squirmy all day. Argh.

And then, after the murder in the kitchen, I skulked around the house, popping around corners, trying to sneak up on any unsuspecting roach intruders that might be lurking. And what did I discover?!? No, not a roach. No, not a pile of dog-crap. No, I discovered TWO piles of dog-crap. TWO. Freakin’ Coby, I’m gonna KILL that dog. Am. Going. To. Kill. Him. I guess since he saw the cockroach, he figured that our house was a toilet, so it was fair game. He’s been doing so well… he hasn’t had an accident in weeks.

Argh. I’m just so annoyed I can barely sit still. I feel the need to drive home and scour the entire house and yard with a scrub brush and a wad of steel wool. I’ve never had a dirty house. Have I allowed it to become temporarily disheveled? Yes. The months immediately following Mama’s death, I could barely drag myself out of bed, much less clean once I was actually mobile. But since we’ve moved into our little house in Feb, we’ve been pretty much on top of it. We have a cleaning schedule, we vacuum and dust and sweep and load and unload the dishwasher and clean the bathrooms and do all those things that you have to do to keep your house clean. I’ve come to terms that with two dogs and constant foot traffic, my house isn’t going to be pristine. I’ve resigned myself to the never-ending battle with dog hair, and leaves and such in the laundry room where we track crap in from the deck. But this is too much. I HATE cockroaches.

Jennifer tells me that old houses come with roaches… she said that they’re inevitable. Coworker Julie says that everybody has an encounter at some point – that they sometimes hitch a ride in your groceries or dog food and that it’s not a sign that my house is disgracefully dirty. Coworker Tim says that they’re called “Palmetto” bugs, and he’s really glad I never came to his family’s house in Summerville, SC because they were as big as dogs.

Everyone I’ve talked to has recommended that I “bomb” my house. Sounds exciting.

Argh.

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