Muse. Ramble. Rant. Repeat



Enough Lysol to Poision my Friends.

Standing in the kitchen, I’m holding a bottle of Lysol in one hand and a paper towel in the other. I am waiting. Soon, very soon, one of them will move and I’ll squirt. They’ll drop and then I’ll mush them with the paper towel.

 Fruit flies. Everywhere.

 Apparently we’ve had a problem with them for about a month now. I don’t do the dishes; I don’t deal with garbage. This is CJ’s job. He keeps a very clean kitchen; so every night while preparing dinner I had no idea about the little insects. However, two weeks ago, CJ broke his foot. All cooking and cleaning has fallen to me and being a very poor housekeeper it took only one week for these little monsters to invade my space.

 This is one of the many, many problems of having one half of a duo out of commission. I’ve actually been writing for the past two weeks but never at the computer – in the ER, at the doctor’s, in between meetings at the coffee shop – I now have time to go on a posting spree of all my emotions. Excuse me while I retype from these little pieces of paper I’ve been throwing in my purse. Also, please ignore the Lysol smell. It’s actually enjoyable once you get used to it.

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