Swarmed

A couple of years ago, I had a twenty-hour-per-week job, wrote when I wanted to, and read several books per month. I managed house maintenance, juggled medical appointments, school, social and travel arrangements for five busy people and four ornery cats (sorry, Paul), and spent a fair amount of time nurturing relationships with friends and family.

Now, I spend most of my waking hours in front of the computer - interacting with authors and readers, or writing. And when I say most of my waking hours, I mean most of my waking hours. Like 12-13 hours a day, every day, seven days a week. Result: all that stuff I used to handle deftly? Now, notsomuch.

Last night, my husband and I used a rubber mallet to close a (stuck) window we thought was closed. Oops. It's rained lately. A lot. Daily temps have been climbing into the 90s. The electric bill I just got for last month was insane... soooo... I guess an open upstairs window does answer that question. (Bright side: I don't need to call the A/C guy to see why the second floor hasn't been cooling correctly. *facepalm*)

How did we finally figure out that the window was open, you ask? Well, it's termite season. Those suckers are swarming everywhere, and it's not unusual to see them in clusters, foraging for a nice house to nom... Still, you don't expect them to swarm your bedroom. Late last night, before and after the open window was discovered and pounded closed, we tore through an entire box of tissues, running around nabbing termites from the curtains, the walls, the furniture, the bedding... I swear, a group of them were about to have my bedside table for a midnight snack.

While I was stressing about forgetting to set up dental appointments and the fact that I haven't had the oil changed in my car in, um, seven months... I guess I forgot to schedule the pest control lady. Crap.