Of Mismanaged Apartment Complexes and Men

The telltale scent of gasoline, syrup, and carrion meat is all I needed to tell me that for the final few weeks of not having an actual mattress, I’d been lucky: the bedbugs are in the bedding. I’m quite glad I’d taken the paranoid option and bagged every piece of linen that I had used as a temporary bedroll mattress assembly at this point—I didn’t even need to see the place where a dead one had dislodged its desiccated corpse.

What I’d forgotten about was that this is weeks of signal chemical, and anything live was about to come running.

Cue my shriek when an exceptionally fat, well-fed little pestilence bringer shot up the side of my bed frame and made a beeline for me.

The horror.

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Well, at least it isn't eldritch…

“?! You little shit.”

As I stand stock still in the pantry it’s confirmed—I am in fact not hearing things. A mouse has gotten in through the hole in the floor that the people in charge of this hole of a building refuse to fix.

(Of course, this on top of the black mold, the falling-in-bathroom walls, the leaky pipe, the decaying space under my kitchen sink that has been that way since I moved in…)

I moved the trap to the path of where the mouse has been going, but it seems to have wised up. (“You little shit.”) Now I’m about to clear out the pantry and put down a couple more glue traps.

On the upside, I’m on vacation until Friday.

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Eldritch Mouse, Part 2…

I step across my threshold with nothing on my mind except the prescription bottle that I’ve forgotten on my bed. I’ve been sans a nerve pain pill for two doses and at this point I have excruciating pain in four places and an alarming lack of sensation in a fifth. The first thing I’m going to do is take a missed dose.

The first thing I actually do is drop four F-bombs. Sitting on my wall is something I can only describe as a fucking corpse blow-fly (DON’T google that!). It’s about as long as the first joint of my thumb—I have long thumbs—and it’s…not actually doing anything. I avoid aggroing it as I get into streets and prepare a snack to take this med with. It is then that I notice something…odd about the air in the apartment. It smells vaguely like battery acid and hate. I get the distinct impression that I should check my glue trap.

Ay, Yemaya help me!”

I realize that they don’t have actual collarbone an are also all around flexible, but even Eldritch Mouse shouldn’t be bent in such a position. It clearly didn’t approve of the plan I had laid out for it. Its body is twisted double—triple-jointed even, using the entire available width area of the glue trap. From the looks of things, I got him shortly after leaving for work—maybe that was the noise I heard when I thought I dropped a pack of caraway seeds.

Worthy opponent aside, I’m not looking forward to moving that trap. But if I don’t get up to do it now, it won’t get done…

*cringe/shudders and gets up*

Chrysanth WebStory What’s your WebStory today?

Ok, this is getting old.

image

See this?

This is the hole that has been in my apartment for a little over a year. Today I got home to discover a small family of mice scuttling back out of here through it. They appear to be subsiding on the glue traps–the one I just pitched was fuzzy as fuck.

I’ve just replaced them with fresh ones, and put out bug baits on top of that. Now I’m looking for any kind of tape, because I am SICK of the building manager not repairing the hole despite my many times reporting that things can get in.

Mental Spring (well technically autumn) Cleaning.

I’ve been fighting a wicked case of messed-up-moods lately. Between the PTSD and the PMS, I am PO’D in the biggest way possible. It was hard to care about anything.

The other day this came to a head in what apparently counts as a flashback (even if I didn’t have any intrusive thoughts of THAT particular nature). To make sure that I’d never have to deal with what brought it on again, I single-handedly moved EVERY PIECE OF FURNITURE in my apartment. I took things down.

I re-hung curtains.
…well, curtain. I have ONE curtain to my name and I’ve hung it in front of the pantry. Looks much better than the sheet I’d had safety-pinned up there.

I moved the cedar chest—three times, actually—before figuring “Bugger it, I’ll move something else.”

So I picked up the bookshelf (you read that right—I picked up the entire shelf) and carried it to the other side of the apartment. Bing bang boom popcorn—new corner space.

I reassembled the little coffee table that I’d lost room for and moved it into the corner, creating a little workspace that I could use as an ‘office area.’ Sure, there’s a TV on one side of it, but it is at such an angle that watching from where I sit is impossible—well, maybe not impossible, but it’s headache inducing.

Then I moved a chest of drawers out of the pantry (neat trick, seeing as getting it IN there in the first place was difficult) and put it in the ‘closet.’ The cedar chest went in front of that.

Almost as soon as I’d placed the last piece of furniture where it needed to go, I felt better. The place looks bigger, and less cluttered. I can think without those strange thoughts popping in and wreaking havoc upon my poor brains.

I’m going to see if I can get more word count done now. Maybe I’ll be able to come up with something.