Bitten by the bug

I should be in bed (I'm trying a new routine of early morning running), but I just felt compelled to get up and jot down a few lines. I guess after such a long time I just feel like writing again and I don't want to lose anymore fresh ideas to a night of sleep. That and the fact that I think I have bedbugs. In fact I've nearly convinced myself of the idea. It may just be winter weather and dry skin, but I am itching all over right now. No rash, just itching.

I actually read a few months ago that bedbugs (an oldie but a goodie!) were making a big comeback in the U.S. -- especially in the Northeast -- thanks to new waves of immigrants from countries without the luxuries of things like DDT and showers. And now they share a rented room of a boarding house with me in Massachusetts! I guess it could turn out to be fun -- like that bad MTV movie with the talking cockroaches and Jerry "yeah, I was the fat kid from 'Stand By Me'" O'Connell.

All part of the adventure that is this place, I suppose. Today I woke up to find that the hot water was out; a cold shower was not a very appealing option for late November in New England so I opted for the grunge "I've got world problems way more important than personal hygeine on my mind" look at work. I also have a rather loud neighbor who is a nurse and therefore tends to keep odd hours. She blasts heavy metal music on her stereo most of the day. This wouldn't typically be a problem since I like heavy metal, but she plays weird, moody Evanescence-like crap. And I don't know what she watches that is so funny, but she has a shrieking laugh that sounds like the offspring of a hyena and a howler monkey on crack.

But I get what I paid for. And what I paid for is a minimalist monk's cell that I hoped would help me live a Spartan lifestyle as I try to plug into a vein of inspiration and get some writing work done. Until next time, I'm off to sleep and trying not to let the bedbugs bite.