AND YEA THEN THE ANGEL EMPTIED THE SECOND BOWL
Our air conditioning system is in need of some repairs but is still functional, so we turned it on this week. The system is a funny one. Our house is a one-story built in 1952, and has fuel oil-heated hot water for heat. (All your commiserations welcome.) So when someone decided to put in AC, they stuck the air handler up in the garage rafters and ran ductwork through the attic space. The compressor is outside on the patio, shaded by lilacs and rapidly running-amok campanula. There were some ant hills in the patio cracks, but I didn’t think anything of it. After all, they weren’t that close. And unless there was something tasty in the compressor, I doubted they’d be interested.
At first things were heavenly. The air was cool and dry. E was happy and went right to sleep. I went out to the living room and poked around online for a while until my eyes tired, and then I went into our bedroom to collapse. I’d left the coverlet pulled back, and saw tiny bits scattered all over the sheets. Ah, I thought, probably dust from the ducts. I looked more closely and saw that the tiny bits were segmented. Little bodies curled in on themselves — ants.
They were all dead. I couldn’t tell if A) they were dead in the ductwork and, when we turned on the AC, blasted them out into the rooms, or B) they crawled in and were then swept into the handler and through the ducts, dying in transit from…whatever. I’m now leaning toward C) the compressor is their temple of the dead. Special ant psychopomps carry the ant bodies inside and watch them whisk into the next realm.
MILDEW? WHY I HARDLY…OKAY, OKAY, I KNOW YOU
In other news, mildew is still my amazing friend who keeps showing up when I thought it had moved away for good. While we were moving, selling house, buying house, arranging medical care and services for the kid, attending health appointments, and generally worrying about everything ever — get it? We were so busy otherwise this totally would never have happened, I swear — and so we had some loads of laundry that magically did not levitate from washer to dryer on their own power, and thus sat in the washer overnight. Luckily mildew was there to keep them company. I had piles of washed-yet-not clothes that I dumped, er, packed in boxes and then did not unpack until we’d moved from apartment to house. Tonight I dug out a clean tank top that I hadn’t worn since last June, and wondered for the next half hour what stinky ghost was following me around the house. Surprise! Mildeeeewwww.
I had my checkup colonoscopy a few weeks ago. It was a delight, as always. My parents came and babysat E while A drove me to and from the procedure. I think I broke an unwritten sedation code, as every single person involved in the appointment (nurses, nurse anesthetist, anesthesiologist, gastroenterologist, random nurse passing by, etc) all let me know that they heard I had a bad experience with twilight sedation, and how had that happened? I tried explaining to the first nurse who asked me, and as the appointment continued, I finally just answered with, “Yep. Not sure what went wrong.” I’m still not sure what the deal was. Probably they thought I’d had a bad team at the other hospital, or maybe they thought I was just being a big baby. Whatever. Later in discussion with my PA, she told me that some people metabolize twilight sedation meds faster than other people do. “Marijuana users are one such group,” she said.
“REALLY!” I exclaimed. “I DID NOT know that. Because I WOULDN’T.”
I don’t know why I got so reefer-madness. Pot and I do not mix well, so I don’t have it in any form. But if a cop pulled me over and asked if I had any weed to declare, I’d probably get myself arrested or shot screaming about how I do not smoke the marijuana cigarette and I’m so glad I do not use gateway drugs. Don’t ask me what the hell. It’s probably some sleeper DARE training, come to fruition after all these years.
Tired now. Going to sleep under the ant rain.