Monthus Horribilis

By any objective measure, I have been having what specialists like to call “an extremely crappy month.”

It is centered on the bedbug problem, which stubbornly continues despite several gallons of poison sprayed about our home. We’re being bitten nightly, and Wife and I are slowly but surely becoming sleep-deprived, insane, blood-sucked zombies.

The amount of pesticides at home means we cannot put Baby on the floor — our carpets have been taken for cleaning and storage, and there’s really nowhere else to put him. Naturally, Wife and I fear that leaving him in the crib and swing for long stretches will retard Baby’s development, turning us into worried, sleep-deprived, insane, blood-sucked zombies.

We are without books, our clothes are packed in Hefty garbage bags, and I (still) spend 90 minutes each night vacuuming the place. My exhaustion is so heavy that Uma Thurman could walk in wearing nothing but the book review and I wouldn’t notice. Last night, we woke up at 3 a.m. — not prompted by Baby — and jointly obsessed about bugs (that’s love!) until we fell asleep again at 5, whereupon Baby did wake us.

And now, this.

I can’t say I’m embarrassed to be a Michigan alum, just that I even give a damn about a fucking football game.

The only good that could come out of this is that Lloyd Carr’s tenure as Michigan coach will come to an end. That, and I have suddenly become a source of mirth to just about anyone who knows that I went to UofM.

Bastards.