Friday, August 22, 2008

Abortion and wreckage in the eleventy-first.

I was at my place late yesterday doing some more cleaning. The focus was on my bedroom, since The Boyfriend had moved his bed and would start staying at my apartment.

Let's go ahead and focus on two of the three pillows I had on my bed.They're average pillows wearing pillow shams, decorative and whatnot. I moved them from the bed to the floor. From the floor to one of the couches. From that couch to the other couch. And finally back to my bed. And when I was placing them on my now bare bed, I noticed two fluffs of foam (the kinda foam you find in bedding or pillows), and without thinking reached out to pick them off.

One of those "fluffs" squished between my thumb and index finger. It was then I knew, yet I was in denial. I quickly moved on to the next task.

I went back into my room and short time later to examine the area on the floor where the "fluffs" had been tossed. I didn't see them, so I leaned over the pillows to examine them for more "fluff" when I spotted the fluff culprit and my suspicions were confirmed.


I killed it, and left it at that.

Later, The Boyfriend and I set out to get clothes and a lamp from his place, with a detour to Jack-in-the-Box on the way back home. His phone rang, and he answered to speak with his friend Brandon. At first I heard him laughingly tell Brandon to cut it out with the jokes and what have you. But the more his friend spoke, the more grim my lover's face became. And even before I heard the words from Brandon's end, I knew: "...I hydroplaned...flipped over three times..." (Bear in mind I was in the passenger seat with the phone facing away from me two feet away. This may have been what I heard). All I could do was pray that he was talking about his bike, and not Lola, The Boyfriend's darling, his sexy Mitsubishi Escape. Of course, logic told me that if Brandon had hydroplaned on his bike and flipped it over three times, he would most likely not be in a position to call The Boyfriend to tell him about it.

I was dropped off and left alone with food for two, waiting and wondering what had happened. I saw Rich again briefly when he came to drop off my clothes for me, and he didn't seem too upset, which I took to mean he'd seen the damage and that it wasn't all bad. He told me that Brandon had lost control and hit the median, and then took off for the rest of the night to sort it out.

I took my sheets out of the dryer and went to fix my bed. As I reached into the back right corner to tuck the sheet in, I felt some webbing and jumped back, hitting my arm very hard against the nightstand. I vacuumed up that and it's minuscule occupant with a quickness, and vacuumed the other corner to be on the safe side. But I decided I didn't want to spend my night paranoid, so I put my new slip covers onto my couches and crashed on one of them for the evening.

Oh, and I definitely vacuumed more than 20 friggin' dead rolly pollies. Yuck.

Nine more months until I can move out this apartment.

No comments: