Friday, July 27, 2012

Create an Imaginary Infestation

People are always wondering how they can catch that man of their dreams and finally be happy, but I say stop wasting your time and learn to be happy on your own.  Think realistically about how much more fulfilling your life can be as a single gal minus the drag line to someone who judges you, treats you as a trifle, and thinks your harebrained schemes are juvenile.  Once you're fully committed to the idea of being alone, then here is a good first step to warding off any of those annoying soul mates that will inevitably come knocking. Acquire a paranoia about an imaginary insect infestation in your home. A good example is the time I thought I had bedbugs. I was living in Los Angeles, a city where dreams are made. My dream in the month of April 2010 happened to be of the Cimex lectularius variety.  I remember the details vividly. It was a Saturday, and I had just borrowed what I liked to pretend was the 'community' vacuum cleaner, but in reality actually belonged to the extraordinarily literate building manager. He housed that vacuum in the laundry room of good old Edgemont Manor in Los Feliz, and I would sneak down and borrow it from time to time. That particular afternoon I vacuumed the absolute hell out of my apartment. The corners, the closets, the blinds, - I even went so far as to use the hose attachment on the crumbs in the toaster, and on all 5 levels of my bookcase. There was not a dust bunny to be found by the time I finished. I was satisfied. Content. Maybe even a little happy. My apartment was immaculate, and because of that, suddenly, my life, too, seemed to be in apple pie order. I went about the rest of my weekend a little more focused and aware than usual and even got myself to bed on time Sunday night so I could approach another soul-crushing work week with technicolor alacrity.  But when I woke up Monday morning, I noticed I had several small bites all over my body.  At first I thought maybe it was a dust allergy - after all, I had kicked up so much of it on Saturday that I felt like a Steinbeck character heading West. But ten or so minutes into wakefulness, a sudden doom washed over my entire being. I knew what the bites were. There was no other explanation.  I went to bed bite-less and woke up covered in welts. It had to be bedbugs. The evidence started falling into place faster than a spicy tuna roll from a Phoenix, Arizona strip mall sushi joint speeds through the guts of all its consumers, and I started to panic. But it was a helpless kind of panic, for if this infestation were true, then it was already too late.  The damage was done. I'd seen the news stories on TV. These things were unmanageable. There was no hope. (To be continued...)

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