We are alive. Well, mostly. Josh is hanging on by a thread at camp. I am basically praying all the time for him, because I know how straining week-long tradeshows were on me. I can’t imagine three weeks of working 9am-9pm and later.

I’m at the new house, which I’m still struggling to call home because… it’s soooo DIRTY! I find myself wanting to unpack things and put them away, simple things like linens - but I can’t! That closet is covered in dust and dirt and little black things that I now recognize all too well to be the aftermath of what Texans call “waterbugs”. And contrary to what my landlord and most Texans will tell you, ‘waterbug’ is just a nice nickname for an American Cockroach. I’m crossing my fingers that the house was treated for pests before we moved in, like I asked, but I have not seen any ‘waterbugs’ since we moved in.

This morning I actually went to the grocery store. This because our fridge is 100% empty and I was tired of eating Ritz crackers. I hate grocery shopping, especially when I don’t know the store’s layout. There was lots of retracing and bumping into the same people multiple times, including one creepy dad with his daughter who kept looking at me like I was going to snatch her up in a sudden Hand That Rocks The Cradle baby lust. Look at me, man: not. interested.

The rest of the afternoon included more cleaning - this time the shower/tub. We have this window, IN the shower and it has BLINDS?!! of all window treatments on it. I asked the landlord to get rid of the old, moldy and non-functioning ones that were there before. Now I have a new set that was cut with scissors to fit the small window. Sweet. Somehow I think they’re going to wind up just as moldy. When I opened the blinds to clean the black mold (I know, my life is in serious danger here) off the tile around it, I found a very large, rusty razor blade, which was shocking at first. Then I realized it was probably used to scrape out the old caulking before we moved in. Atleast, I hope that’s why it was there.

Tomorrow shall be more of the same… cleaning out closets with missing floorboards. Or as I like to call it, my ‘laundry chute to the crawl space.’ Just call me the new Melissa Summers.