I'm sitting here in the Computer Room wearing my pajamas, sneakers, a leather jacket and leather work gloves, waiting for a phone call at the ungodly hour of 10:30 am.
Why am I wearing sneakers, a leather jacket and leather work gloves in addition to my normal pajamas? Because I just got up to the sound of ominous buzzing in the Master Bedroom.
I suited up in whatever protective gear I had around outside the Master Bedroom, grabbed a can of wasp spray (“For use, outdoors only. Do not inhale.”) and went back inside the bedroom to do battle.
Apparantly whatever Paravespula vulgaris had crawled inside left the room before I got back. After a failed search to find our uninvited guest I called The Office to find out what exactly they supposedly did to evict our Vespoidea visitors.
“Um … we'll get back to you,” they said. “In a few minutes.”
That was half an hour ago.
Update a few minutes later
Apparently, the person I spoke to half an hour ago is no longer in the office! And the woman I spoke to has no idea what I'm talking about.
Update later today
From: Spring Dew <email@example.com>
To: Sean Conner <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Subject: yellowjacket update
Date: Thu, 12 Feb 2004 15:17:20 -0500
The special contractor is coming out tomorrow (Friday) to take a look at the colony to discern whether it's actually yellowjackets or paper wasps, as the creatures look the same, but the treaments differ vastly. From my research, I seem to remember that for one of the species, you have to rip the whole wall out. I hope this is the other one.
I've been slightly off-center all week—tired mostly, and taking cat naps when I can get them (and the wasps didn't help matters at all today). I've also been having “disturbing” dreams and what's worse, I can remember these “disturbing” dreams.
Now, while I consider these “disturbing” dreams as nightmares, I don't think most would actually consider them “nightmares” per se—to me the stereotypical nightmare is one you are being chased by a fire-accident victim in a cheap sweater with nine-inch finger nails or being subjected to the friendly advances of rednecks while being serenaded by banjo music in the backwoods of the Apalachian mountains. I could only wish to have such nightmares. No, the “nightmares” I have, the reason they're disturbing, is that the situations are so frighteningly normal. Think of The Stepford Wives, or Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Things seem normal, but there's this undercurrent where things just aren't right and even in the cases when I can pin down where things aren't right, there isn't much I can do about them, like the dream where the trust-fund frat-boy scion of a powerful family is placed into a position of absolute power.
Oh wait … that isn't a dream.
But it does give you an idea of just how “disturbing” my dreams are (if only Donald Sutherland would screetch at me … ).
I feel great!
In fact, I don't care at all if Donald Sutherland will never screetch at me. I feel great!