So I am having this fitful dream about being tied to a peice of marble facedown and having very small drill bits inserted at high-rotation speeds into the small of my back and shoulders. Not going particularly deep at first, the drill creates patches of small bloody skin and ripped meat around my shoulderblades and the base of my spine. Gradually my tormentor switches to a longer bit and moves towads the center of my back, where the ribs lie. Around the time I feel my lungs start filling with blood, whistling, gurgling, and belching like a pack of ghouls at some obscene fleshy feast, I wake up.
Except the incessant heat/itching in my back doesn’t go away when I wake up. I flip a hand behind my back to make sure I am not, in fact drilled, and itch one of the iritated spots. The itching fingers find a bump, which cracks under the pressure of my itching digit, and I feel wetness on my finger. The bottom of my stomach falls out.
I get my glasses, and sneak to the bathroom.
I think I figured out why I have been sleeping fitfully recently – apparently Rich’s fucking problem has moved east.
I am so angry, filled with loathing, and frustrated at how much time I am going to have to waste on de-lousing my bed, my room, and doing so in a manner that will be safe not only to Richelle and I, but to Marley, who tends to sleep beneath the bed, that I cannot possibly go to sleep. I’ve taken a shower already, and will probably take another pretty soon. I don’t know if I am going to go back to bed even. My stomach is churning like the machinery driving the drills in my dream.
I’ve read all there is that is worthwhile on the subject online. It does not look like this is going to be an imposibility to tend to the matter myself – it means a trip to C-Town and Home Depot, and an entire evening wasted in futile work. Richelle is going to flip out. I should have just listened to her a week ago when she voiced her concerns. At least her mom will be gone, so we can crash in the living room.
Rich said something months ago akin to: “I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, especially not my best friend.” Well, he bloody fucking well should have done less wishing and more proactive maintence and cleaning, instead of going with bargain basement exterminators, and not being on top of the cause of the goddamn problem. Marley or I probably trekked a female into the bedroom from the hallway or perhaps even the computer room (though there is no supporting evidence YET of infestation at my computer, if there is, I will most probably go on a blunt trauma spree). I might be able to call an exterminator, but that is going to take a mess of time calling around to find one who we can afford AND who can get here ASAP, AND doesn’t involve me taking time off work.
My current McGuyver extermination plan involves a large box of huge black trash bags, several rolls of tape, copius amounts of insecticide, a gallon of bleach, a steam cleaner, and several large heat lamps. I plan on bagging/packing everything in the bedroom (not in the closets) – plastic-coating both closet doorways, dissassembling all the furniture, rolling up the carpet, dousing EVERYTHING in insecticide, then making a bleach/water mixture, and adding that to the mattresses. They will be black bagged, taped sealed, and placed upright overnght, with the room closed off, the air conditioner removed, under the heat of the sun lamps. Apparently, bedbugs cannot live in temperatures over 100 degrees or so. More than one site suggested bagging the mattresses and leaving them out in the sun for several hours. I cannot take off any time off right now to do this during the day, so I will have to outlay $ to tend to the matter. Perhaps a space heater as well.
Once everything is sufficently caoted with death juice, bagged, and ready for baking, I will set up the room, and tape the door to the bedroom shut with plastic, and let things go overnight. I will turn off the lamps in the morning, but leave things sitting all day in the sweltering third floor heat. When I get home, I will then begin the tedious task of steam cleaning EVERYTHING.
Part of me almost doesn’t want to bother or deal with the risk- just throw away the bed and boxspring – move the fram after going over every inch of it with deadly poisons and a steam cleaner, and having 1800mattress deliver a new bed to our new apartment. We only need to worry about it for another week and a half if I do it that way. Maybe I can use the money I just made to get Richelle one of those Tempur-Pedic beds. I don’t even know how much they cost…
Hmm just looked into the matter, unless I am getting some crazy financing, and buying from a generic company it doesn’t look like it is going to happen. Maybe just a really nice new mattress – they are definitely more affordable. The fucking Tempur-Pedic things are like 1500$ for a queen size, plus another 250$ for the base mattress, plus shipping.
This is clearly what I get for being a little optimistic about my fucking life.
Rich just came in and lay down on the sofa – I wonder why. I’m going to go take another shower.