Message from God, or just plain old bad hygiene?

Preface: Please check out the Readers’ Poll at the bottom.

I smell like a citronella candle. Citronella and lemongrass, a little bottle of Burt’s Bees insect repellent I found in my bathroom stuff. To ward off the bedbugs, which had disappeared for a while and have since returned. I guess the eggs hatched. In any case, Rukan, who is usually an insect beacon and thus protects me, like flypaper, from getting bitten, is dressed in: a long sleeved flannel shirt, buttoned at the neck and wrists, tucked into: thick sweatpants, tucked into: thick socks. Did I mention it’s summer in Texas, and we don’t keep our AC on at night? She’s sleeping, somehow . . . should I take a picture and post it? She would murder me. I think I’ll choose life over art.

I gave my notice at my night job, the market research company. I’m very disappointed to have to go, since I actually like the job quite a bit. It’s the only thing in my life that uses my brain. But I need family time back. I need to spend evenings with Rocky. I need to not have four jobs.

Not that the four jobs amounted to overtime, really – usually 35-45 hours a week, including the baby we watch. It’s that it’s four jobs. I work two ten hour days, and one 13 hour day, going to two workplaces in a day; my other days are split up between housekeeping, nannying and market research. Oh, and chores. And business calls. And the fact that I’m diagnosably ADD and become forgetful, unfocused and generally angst-ridden when my life is disorderly. My grandfather, who was the same way, used to say, “I have a one track mind with eight tracks playing at once.” And so it is.

So, to come back around to my original reason for posting, before I got distracted, we’re taking these three days to battle the bedbugs. In addition to cleaning thoroughly and bug-proofing the stuff that needs it, Rukan and I are purging our house and packing for the move. It’s happening. We have a date. February 1st, the day after Ev’s birthday. Enough time to make a chunk of money for the move and for three months’ bills when we arrive in the Homeland, and maybe some to put toward a down payment on a house, eventually. The good news is, Louisville housing is affordable for us. The other good news is, Louisville massage therapists don’t make that much less than here, so we’ll still be making a decent living. The great news is, once I have an established clientele, the $300 I make sharing my 15 clients/week with the Massage Pimp will translate to $900/week in my private practice.

In other news, and on a lighter note, except not really, I keep getting clients with big belly buttons, and lint stuck in them. Reader’s poll: if it was a sign from God, what would be her message?