Urban Scourge

Where do I start. I'm going to make this brief because I've been up since, well, yesterday. If you ever think to yourself: I so wish I lived in a bohemian urban neighbourhood in a large city, let me disabuse you of the glamour.

These fuckwit morons, living across the street, (and I know this sounds incredibly prejudiced but I'm SURE they're renters) have been hosting parties (should we call them live-music concerts?) that start at exactly 2 am.

You read that right. I now go to bed at 9pm on Friday nights, in the event that I'll be woken on the nose of 2. Cuz you never know when it's going to happen.

I've got the police on fucking speed dial. Alas, last night they were too busy with actual emergencies to get here before daylight. The party was still happening at 5:30 am.

And the worst of it: They blare fucking House. OMG, I've hated House since I've had words to describe that droning, misery of a torture they try to call music.

You'll have to forgive me. I'm mentally screaming right now.

But wait, it gets better.

I decided, like the increasingly old-person that I am, to get my ass up and actually do some work. And by work I mean sewing. I mean, what's the point of lying in bed, freaking out about how I won't have any energy to craft tomorrow, when I can just get started.

All was well - I'm bizarrely focused at 3 am, apparently, after 5 hours of sleep that ends at 2 am - until the hugest fucking scary insane monster of a centipede came out of nowhere and started 30 minutes of active terror-warfare.

You should know that I am legitimately phobic about insects. I have been since early childhood. I've even had behaviour therapy to help me with the issue cuz, bugs, they tend to be everywhere and I find it hard to function knowing that. I can tell you about numerous experiences (some closer to now than I'd like to admit) where I was traumatized by discovering a particular insect. I check my sheets before I go to sleep and I live in freakin' Canada.  (Side bar: Parenting has done more to help me with this phobia than anything else because my urge to ensure that my kid doesn't feel afraid has insprired me to keep it together in the presence of crawlies. Over time, I've been able to model her calmness.)

Hilariously, my husband is all hippie about killing insects. And by hilarious, I mean WTF?!? We have this gizmo that traps them and then he releases them back into the garden. Great.

Anyway, last night, well, at 3:30 in the morning, as I was listening to a house-thumping litany of stupid dance music, I was also trapped in the sewing room with the biggest fucking prehistoric-seeming bug of all time. And I was trying to throw things at it so that I could either kill it, or just move it out of the sight-line of the door. Those things are particularly good at avoiding rulers and boots.

Eventually I trapped it by the ironing board and ran to get Scott (praying that it wouldn't scurry somewhere else in the meanwhile). To say that Scott (who could, himself, barely sleep through the music but is very live and let live - apparently) was not impressed at being compelled to deal with a centipede in the middle of the night, is a small understatement. To his credit, he didn't much argue. He knew it was pointless. Somehow, he managed to catch the lightening-fast bug in the re-release gizmo, on the first try (even he was amazed by this) and that story, she was done.

I have no energy right now to tell you about V1027. Do wish me luck.