A couple of days ago was the one year anniversary of my “one year anniversary” post. I am sad that this post seems to represent the apex of my blogging career. I wish my infertility anniversaries continued to provide literary material. Now they are just tiresome.

Other than #occupywallstreet, the most exciting thing in my life these days is bed bugs. I found one on my shirt one week ago. It was a cinematic moment.  I had rolled over to turn off my reading lamp. There it was, perched on my shoulder in the weak yellow glow. I’d never seen a live bed bug before, but I knew. Things were about to change.

It was probably a good thing that I had a very early miscarriage only days before that, because the amount of toxic chemicals I proceeded to spray in my apartment would’ve killed anything weighing less than 75 lbs.

I bought mattress and box spring protectors. I threw out pillows, old clothes and the frame backpack that came with me on the travels that characterized the decade of my 20s. I had spent hours sewing souvenir patches on that ratty thing: a Bolivian cocoa leaf, a Berlin crest, the stone structures of Machu Picchu.  I put it in a garbage bag and left it among my neighbors’ detritus in the alley.

The exterminator’s name was Raul. The landlord sent him. We had to leave the keys with the superintendent because he would only come when we were at work.  He ripped the sheets off the bed and upended the futon mattresses. He left his card on our little hallway table.

When I called, he said he had seen nothing: no eggs, no fecal stains on the mattress. But within days, I had found more: tiny, struggling creatures, desiccated and dying. Only one was turgid with blood. I taped them to the back of an envelope and put them in a yogurt container marked “bed bugs.”

Raul came again. This time he said the bed bugs that I’d saved were gnats. It was a relief, in a way. But I think I am still ready for war.


2 Responses to “anniversaries”

  1. Sometimes we just have to go to war. Can I send a hug your way as support?

  2. Shit I had no idea you also threw out your cool backpack! That sucks. Sorry dear.

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