Infested

That's the right word.

How is it that I can have such a day of freedom and shininess... when my whole being laughs at the notion of disconnectedness...
And then turn round, and fall over like a card house?

You know, I just can't not cuss about this:
Fuck.

... Don't worry. I have a super great story about last night to tell when I'm not feeling so virulent.
I just have to spit this out now and go to bed.

I'm housesitting for a few weeks. Bizzzy tired, thrumming with doubt tonight, I came back to a house full of ants. As if my snozz-faced brain sent out a message to its minions: "Let's rip it up."

I don't have a problem with ants. But thronging all over the kitchen counters? Cruising over my toothbrush? C'mon. A perfect visual image for the infestation in my head- swarming mob of hungry critters, looking for crumbs to hold above their heads. And yup, that was me, walking around today dragging humiliation like a moldy apple seed.

...