(no subject)
We have ants, in the apartment, in the kitchen. I don't know how they got in, really, but there's a crack in the drywall and maybe they squeeze in there. I keep finding them in the carpet, trying to find their way through, or returning with crumbs. I don't want to put powder down, I don't think -- well, I'd rather have live ants than little scattered black corpses, and they aren't the biting kind. But I don't know how to make them go. I don't know that I should, I mean... I mean they could have been here first, for all I know. They're such clean little creatures really, but I don't know, it still seems dirty to be living with them.
I keep thinking about this misheard lyric, I don't know when I found out I was wrong. The ants are my friends, they're blowin' in the wind...
Mouse isn't really interested. Probably considers them too small to be worth her time. Bad tasting too, I expect. Occasionally, though, I find that she has backed one into a corner and is teasing it, watching it run and then putting a paw in it's path at the last minute, forcing it to change direction. I think I'm quite glad she doesn't have a magnifying glass.
Private
The clinic was quiet today, and for some reason that meant everything took longer than usual. Normally it's like a production line, a quick wait to be marched in and cursorily examined, a few needles full of blood and a wait for the results. I don't mind the tests at all, I'm always being told how easy I am to take blood from. Pale skin shows up the veins, I suppose, and I wonder whether I could become fully translucent in time, until I remember that's not the same thing as invisible. But I don't mind, I don't mind the whole process, it's better than it was today, when it's quiet and they try to talk to you.
Every time the paper comes back to say I'm clean I feel like framing it or pinning it to the fridge like A grades, like children's drawings.
I guess it doesn't matter.
I keep thinking about this misheard lyric, I don't know when I found out I was wrong. The ants are my friends, they're blowin' in the wind...
Mouse isn't really interested. Probably considers them too small to be worth her time. Bad tasting too, I expect. Occasionally, though, I find that she has backed one into a corner and is teasing it, watching it run and then putting a paw in it's path at the last minute, forcing it to change direction. I think I'm quite glad she doesn't have a magnifying glass.
Private
The clinic was quiet today, and for some reason that meant everything took longer than usual. Normally it's like a production line, a quick wait to be marched in and cursorily examined, a few needles full of blood and a wait for the results. I don't mind the tests at all, I'm always being told how easy I am to take blood from. Pale skin shows up the veins, I suppose, and I wonder whether I could become fully translucent in time, until I remember that's not the same thing as invisible. But I don't mind, I don't mind the whole process, it's better than it was today, when it's quiet and they try to talk to you.
Every time the paper comes back to say I'm clean I feel like framing it or pinning it to the fridge like A grades, like children's drawings.
I guess it doesn't matter.