Oh fun. The landlord may be nice, but he forgot to mention something before we moved in here: that there was a bug problem. I wish it were ants, fleas, or even cockroaches. But noooooo, it just had to fucking be bedbugs. We’ve had to deal with this once before in a different apartment building we lived in years ago. We thought we shook loose of these little bloodsuckers’ grip. And we did. But now, here we go again. God almighty. Not this again. You know how hard these little bastards are to get rid of? We’ve been here only a week. ONE WEEK. And this is happening already.
But you know what? I don’t care anymore. Whether it’s bugs, or people, or bad luck, there’s always gonna be something unpleasant going on in our lives. It just never ends. As long as we’re playing the game of life, we have to put up with the little annoyances it throws at us. It really does feel like a huge middle finger in my face. It doesn’t piss me off like it used to. I’ve just grown accustomed to this kind of thing. If there’s a first or last place, You can bet I’ll be in last place. It’s just the way it is. I guess.
Now Megan’s upset. She gets bit up by these little bastards more than I do, and it does create an oppressive feeling in your home. Especially in the bedroom, because that’s where they like to feed on you mostly. She’s being real quiet and distant. And I’ve been with this woman for 5 years now, I know what it means when she gets quiet. It means she’s depressed. Luckily, she’s married to me, someone who is all too familiar with the heavy influence of depression and it’s effects. Cuddling and letting her cry on my chest usually makes her feel better in 15 to 20 minutes.