No, the movers haven’t come yet. It’s cockroaches. I believe you know how I feel about these things. Last night I saw one scuttle across the floor in my laundry room. I turned around and walked out of the kitchen and shut the door. Of the 13 doors and 15 windows in the house the laundry room does not have a door. I slept with the lights on, cockroaches don’t like the light.

This morning I went into the kitchen, flipflops on, just in case. There is was. On its back, dead-like. I sighed and made a pot of coffee, thanking Mr. Clean, which I had dumped on the floor over the weekend (a little less than a full bottle). Then, it moved. I freaked and grabbed the 409. Spray…spray spray. Empty bottle. Lemon 409: spray…twitch twitch twitch…spray spray spray spray spray spray…twitch.

So now there is a dead lemon-scented cockroach on my kitchen floor in a pool of 409. And I still don’t have my belongings, so JWatt, I don’t think you truly understand what living on a mattress without even a table is really like.

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