Thursday, August 04, 2005
Maybe it's a Thursday thing, but I'm at a low energy ebb at the moment.
There are two main culprits.
1) Major above-the-fold bold-type headline in my newspaper today was all about dead murdered children. Always a pick-me-up. Turns out that the crazy blogger-who-kills-people I blogged about last month confessed to an until-now unsolved 1997 kidnapping, sexual assault and murder of a 10-year-old boy in Beaumont, an edge-of-the-desert town about 30 miles east of here. This is in addition to the four other people (that we know of) that he killed in Idaho in July.
Five full newspaper pages of "special coverage" about all the gruesome details, how the family reacts, how the town reacts, excerpts from the crazy person's blog... it was almost enough to put me off my Frosted Flakes. Almost. I really really like Frosted Flakes.
For once though, I'd like it very much if Riverside County could make the national news for something other than a) child murders b) being on fire or c) a van full of illegal immigrants suffocating to death in the heat.
We need something positive to happen that really makes a splash. I'm thinking free candy. That'll get the newsvans running out here.
2) This guy:
Well, not him specifically, but about 300 billion of his friends who live in my walls. I don't want to sound racist, but they all look alike to me, they really do. For some reason, this invasive little fucker and all his little pals have decided that they're tired of living the ant-life with all the scrounging and the dirt and have decided they would like to upgrade, something cozy and homey, maybe 4 bedrooms in a nice outlying suburb of the greater Los Angeles area.
So they've banded together as a unit and are now trying to push me around. I'm pretty sure they think I'll eventually get tired of the fight and wander off, leaving them with all my food, my dog (and her tasty, tasty feces they seem to love so much) and possibly--this is just a suspicion at this point--my wife. It's not that they could do anything with her should I leave, I think they just want to humiliate me. It's not enough for them to win, they need to break me.
I've been fighting the encroaching bastards for the better part of a week. This afternoon reinforcements arrive in the form of an exterminator. I've been careful around the kitchen, taking exterminator-related phone calls upstairs away from prying little antennae, but I don't know if I've been successful. At night I could swear I'm being watched. Or listened too or... smelled or whatever sense those things use to stalk people.
To this point I haven't been swarmed and eaten, so I figure so far so good.
If I'm not here tomorrow, you'll know what happened to me.
If the ants get me, I leave you all my matching tupperware set. Most of the lids are missing and some of it smells a little like gasoline, but it's the thought that counts. One of the containers may actually include my remains. I know it's grisly, but it's the only way I can be sure I'll be safe from the ants after I'm gone.
This post on the Narcissus Scale: 7.1