My roommate had bedbugs.
I think he still does have bedbugs.
This means I have bedbugs and considering how much I love bugs, it might as well be Aliens (the Ridley Scott version) living in my fucking apartment.
I went to sleep last night with my hair in the tightest bun ever, a pair of leggings tucked into tube socks, a couple of shirts underneath a zipped-all-the-way-up hoodie that was also pulled over in my head and tied in place.
No blankets.
On the floor.
Terrified.
Maybe you think I'm over-reacting. Maybe you don't know me in real life so you don't know how my stupid brain works. Maybe you haven't realized how I've been riding my bike everywhere and so I'm covered in what I thought were mosquito bites but upon closer inspection are far too close and too itchy and too many to be considered anything but bedbug bites.
Maybe you're a douchebag.
Anyway, I spent a better part of last night and this morning thinking about how I will solve this problem. I came to several conclusions: throw out my mattress, box spring, all blankets and pillows and take all of my clothes to the laundromat tonight to wash and dry five times over; rent a flamethrower and burn the building down; move into my mom's house; die; move out.
I cannot live with my mother again and I don't feel like dying so I'm going to cross both those out.
I don't know where to rent a flamethrower so that's out.
I'm going to call my landlord and tell him I am getting rid of all this shit, could he please help me get it out of my house.
I have to get the fuck away from these people I live with.
I have to move out.
How can I move out when I have to spend money on a new apartment AND a trip to California?
I cried about this most of last night and I'm biting back tears now.
I have to sell my Lollapalooza ticket.
I HAVE TO SELL MY LOLLAPALOOZA TICKET.
I'm so sad and itchy. I hate everyone and everything.
Does anyone have an air mattress I can borrow in the time being?
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