bad metaphor

My enjoyment of the outdoors these hot, muggy summer nights is greatly tempered by the throngs of winged death monsters congregated outside. They lurk in bushes, grass, shadows, and seem to materialize out of the air around me, ready to consume my tasty Vietnamese flesh. I must douse myself in Off! Skintastic or risk getting devoured, even if I am to go outside for a mere minute or two. To make matters worse, I appear to be particularly sensitive; within seconds, the bites on my skin turn into angry red welts, rivaling the vermilion shade of wrathful supernovas.

Even the inside of the house where I am currently staying does not appear to be safe from these foul creatures. I don’t want to coat myself in toxic chemical residue every time I leave the house, but I also wish to be rid of this constant torment. Anybody have any effective home remedies or other suggestions for a suffering blogger? I’ll eat nothing but pickles and okra (blecch) for a week straight if it means I am no longer a delicious and cheap buffet line for every mosquito within 1 mile radius of Lawrence.

Does it count as Kafka esque, if it actually features Franz Kafka?

Last night I had a dream about trying to save Kafka’s life. Only Kafka was a middle aged, prunish looking woman instead of a German man. There were about three or four of us living in a ramshackle Victorian house. I was puttering around downstairs, minding some business, when I heard from upstairs a commotion, and someone shouting “needles.” The shout evoked some sort of prescient memory (like in Dune, where the guy “remembers” events from the future (nerd alert!)) – everyone who lived in the house knew what that shout signified, and it meant that Franz Kafka was about to die.

“It’s inevitable!” shouted one of the others, a woman (Dora Diamant, perhaps?). The other two were a middle aged man and a teenage boy. Kafka hobbled down the stairs, dressed in school matron garb, blood pouring down the sides of her face. At some point, in spite of said inevitability, we decided it was our duty to put our best efforts into saving his / her life anyways, Kafka being such an important figure in history (dream Kafka also had political clout of a murky nature).

I had the only means of transport, so I loaded the bloodied Kafka into my trusty Toyota Corolla, and headed off towards Lawrence Memorial Hospital. Kafka was losing consciousness, and I had to work fast – I labored against time and history. As I drove, the streets shifted and changed positions. Upon approaching the hospital, the street would change and the car would end up driving in a different direction, or on the other side of town.

Frustrated, I turned the car around in a parking lot and, speeding, attempted to exit the wrong way. The headlight beams of a monstrous SUV were the last thing I saw before I awoke.

I am settled, for the most part, though not entirely so mentally. My cat is currently with Sarah in Topeka, and half of my worldly belongings (the ones I did not hurriedly toss in the dumpster the day before I moved out) are at Krissy’s place. I’ve had to bother Krissy, whose grandmother has just passed away, to get access to my stuff. Quarkie, according to reports, is up to his usual tricks of waking people up at 5 in the a.m. for food. So basically I have been a huge bother to my friends, and for that I offer apologies and future promises of booze and egg rolls.

As previously mentioned, I am staying with my boyfriend Elijah and our friend Danny, at a professor’s house. They happen to be housesitting for the month of July, and taking care of the professor’s adorable-yet-slightly-dumb chocolate lab, Cocoa. I’m still not quite a dog person – the dog smell really does kind of set off some OCD “must wash hands every five minutes!” alarm in my head – yet Cocoa is winning me over, even though I am quite sneezy these days.

What I can’t quite adjust to yet are the mosquitoes. Certainly they are everywhere, not specific to the house, but given that one of the housesitting duties is to take care of the plants, I do find myself spending a couple of minutes outside each day. The time I spend outside is apparently enough for one mosquito to send signals to its brethren: “Vietnamese buffet ahoy!” They then descend and feast upon my hapless, tasty flesh. Of course I happen to have severe reactions to mosquito bites. I just got a few before sitting down to write this blog post, and one of them has already swelled to the size of a dime (with absolutely no assistance, as I have not even so much as breathed upon it). A horrible, itchy dime.

Other than that, I’m slowly settling in. The house we’re staying in is cozy, but the property spans about two acres – pretty large for still being inside the city limits. There’s a big barn for storage out in the yard, as well as the remains of a silo (photos will be taken and posted, as soon as I can procure some precious liquid mosquito-death). There’s also a mysterious carpentry shop, with padlocked doors and covered windows. The boys have already done some Hardy Boys style exploring, and will surely conduct more expeditions.

Inside the house there’s a lovely sun porch, as well as a variety of interesting collections. Old Jayhawks trace the lineage of mascotry the university has adopted; as it turns out, our goofy looking bird used to look quite fearsome once upon a time. There are several glasses full of marbles, and a curio cabinet laden with earthenware vases (and incongruously enough, a ceramic duck). There are also several creepy, unblinking dolls. I’m really not a fan of dolls, especially the kind with glassy staring eyes so this is my least favorite collection.

Also, there are a couple of rooms which are designated as “off limits,” according to Elijah and Danny. I did not realize this when I first visited and had wandered around upstairs, looking at the creepy dolls, when all of a sudden, I found myself caught! I looked down and discovered myself entangled in a long red string.

String? What was this doing here? Did Mrs. Professor rush through a quick sewing project before leaving on her trip? Was it an accident that this string happened to be tied to the end of a candlestick, and the other end to a dresser drawer on the other side of the room?

Other than that bit of paranoia (on both ends, I must admit), it’s quite comfortable here. For now. I’d like to have a place of my own, to not live out of suitcases (there’s very little room at Professor’s house to store Elijah and Danny’s stuff, let alone mine), and to have my cat back with me again.