Women, Child, Pets Found Exsanguinated in Austin Hovel

I’m so tired I’m seeing things all blurry. What a life I’m having. Suddenly cast into the weird psychotic inner landscape that happens when I’m facing major life change – specifically when I’m getting ready to leave a place I’ve settled in to. When I was little, big geographical transitions were usually accompanied by some sort of nasty trauma. So with that wired into my brain, I now face moving away from Austin, a home I’ve lived in longer than anywhere else, my community, such as it is, my neighbors, my goddaughter, the grackles, the bats, Barton Springs, that blue blue sky and gorgeous afternoon light, the Gulf . . . oh Austin, how do I love thee?

Moving to . . . Louisville, more of an idea than a real place, so far. The idea is one of proximity to family, helping our parents as they age, getting the family support we need, the sense of safety in living with a clan (should the poo hit the fan, it’s nice to know there are permanent support people close by). A very grown-up idea of commitment and responsibility. Housing our daughter in a place we own, working out plans to reach a high enough income bracket that we can consider helping Rocky through college and even – heavens to Betsy! – planning our own retirement. Ick. Grown-up stuff. I never, ever thought I’d let money matter. Money=Evil. My old retirement plan was to stay off the grid, live in a trailer on a mountain and shoot squirrels out my window for dinner.

The very good thing about leaving is that we will escape the hideous blood-sucking parasites that are crawling out of our walls and slowly exsanguinating us in the black of night.

Meet the newest member of my household: Little Bedbug.

Cimex lectularius: did you know that they mate by “traumatic insemination”, wherein the male pierces the female’s body cavity with his reproductive “device”? Sometimes, males inseminate other males. I think I hear a Gay Bedbug Pride parade in my mattress seam.

Apparently there’s quite a resurgence of them in the U.S., and it doesn’t matter whether you’re poor and live in a filthy poo-crusted hovel or rich and living in a febreeze-filled mansion. OK, the filth apparently doesn’t help matters. But they’re showing up everywhere, is my point, which makes me feel a little bit better about my own situation, given that I too am prey to the insidious deep-seated knowledge that having bedbugs in your house makes you a disgusting leprous gutter-creeper that God Himself despises.

The very sad thing is that we will probably lose our babysitting gig with Baby Bumbo, who I’ve fallen completely in love with, and I wouldn’t blame her parents for it either. Once they’ve discovered sweet-blooded hosts and moved into the cracks in your walls and started making babies, it’s very, very hard to eradicate them. I just hope they haven’t already climbed into the little car seat she sleeps in and hitched a ride to their house across the street.

We will do what we can to kill them, but I think Rukan’s pretty much ready to throw everything in the house out on the street and put plastic sheeting all over our walls, and wear one of those white disease-suits like the guys in E.T. wore. Then leave the very moment we’re able.

I told Rukan that there are bedbugs in Louisville too, but she didn’t seem to hear me.


9 responses to “Women, Child, Pets Found Exsanguinated in Austin Hovel

  1. Maggie Jochild

    The bedbugs in Louisville are REPUBLICAN. Which means there’s no reasoning with them, ever.

    Apparently the finest hotels in NYC are being infested, and some folks say that’s how they are being spread all over the country, from tourists. I’ve heard some airplanes are rife with them and having to be fumigated.

    Wait till dengue fever hits the U.S….

  2. I know you probably hate chemicals, but isn’t there a way to bomb the house? Surely there must be something you can do!

    If it’s any consolation, I’ve been avoiding Chris’s house because it’s flea heaven. I’m gonna resort to evil chemicals because I just can’t deal otherwise. My ankles are totally bitten to shit. Ugh.

    How do you think the little friends arrived? Evil, evil, evil!

  3. Ha ha, Maggie! Dengue fever! Piffy – Rukan and I are in the middle of vacuuming the cracks and crevices, killing as many as we find, wrapping the boxspring and mattress in thick plastic and duct taping it completely shut (to kill any that we didn’t find, and their larvae), spreading diotomaceous earth in the corners, spraying orange oil everywhere, and washing and drying on high heat any fabrics on/around our bed, including what was in the laundry hamper and on the floor of my closet. Whew.To me, it doesn’t look like a major infestation – we’ve only seen 8-10 of them, and we’re not getting bitten like the people on the internet. So lets hope this takes care of it.

  4. bedbug haiku

    tiny sucking bugs
    i sure do hope we killed you
    otherwise, we itch

  5. I wonder if having a loose colony of geckos in your house would take care of the bedbugs. Geckos are marvelous creatures, you know.

  6. OMG, Blue! What timing! I think I also have bedbugs for the first time ever. They are EVIL!!!

    Apparently I am having some sort of super extreme allergic reaction to the bites that results in 1-2 inch wide hives sprinkled with tiny blisters. As the days go by, the hives just get bigger and itchier. The bites are not even thinking of healing. I am in itchy, painful hell. I just want to cry.

    Where do I start getting rid of them? It’s so overwhelming. I like your non-chemical (I am very chemically sensitive) ideas above, but what do I do first? Any good links on this? Does orange oil kill them?

    Thank you.

    In bedbug solidarity,

    Tree Frog

  7. Ginny, would you happen to be an alter ego? Just curious. Because I know an enormously interesting Ginny in my friend Maggie’s novel, a draft of which can be read over at Maggie’s Meta Watershed. Check it out! Oh, and Bob the Cat would just LOVE a colony of geckos in the house. And we’d come home to heads and tails everywhere.

  8. The fact is, my partner Myra writes about a dyke named Maggie, so we rather think SHE is the alter ego.

    Yes, cats do snack on geckos. And then urp them up. Ghastly mess.

  9. P.S. My icon is a self-portrait I did when I was preggers with our youngest, Gillam.

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