I simultaneously love and hate old houses. I’ve lived in one for the majority of my 22 years, albeit a very well cared for and frequently updated one. I spent my last year in a shady apartment (really…not that bad at all, but for ames, amongst the shadier) with frequent ant infestations and the millipede incident of 2k10. I would take an old rickety house (or apartment) in the ghetto over a ready made, half-a-million house in the ‘burbs any day. Its the romantic in me. The romantic in me that loves to think about shag carpet and suspenders and old windowpanes…
…but hates to think about bugs. Thats the one thing I can’t do. I mean…I can almost handle spiders even. I can take the occasional bug or spider as part of the experience. Screaming and jumping on a chair a few times, okay. But bugs that are biting me? Giving me rashes? Moving in and taking over the place? Game, set, match.
Bed bugs. That is the particular theme of this bug rage. It could carry into many other NIU-related themes (I’m in transition…I’ll learn to love the Huskies, right? I already love DeKalb. Its a 12 step process): Huskie Line, VAC, FML Library (no joke), but I won’t go there. I’ll stick to the fact that I have purple/red rashes on my body, bug bites on my elbows (on the pointy, sticky out part!), and that I just squished a bed bug on a chair downstairs. It looked just like a bed bug and when I squished it, it smelled like rotting raspberries. No denying it. Its an infestation. And not the good kind like when America first met the Beatles.
My worlds are colliding. The romantic in me that loves old houses is crashing into the realist who hates bugs.