I complained about my few remaining beat up possessions and my run down apartment a couple of weeks ago.
I kind of wanted to get better furniture or make the place nicer, but I also didn’t want to fall into that trap and blow a couple grand on doing so.
I should have put two and two together when maintenance showed up with an exterminator two weeks ago and casually asked me if I’d had any problems with bed bugs.
Why no, I hadn’t.
I got back into town this evening and I saw one crawl onto the bed.
I’m not even fucking around. I booked a hotel, put a load of clothes and my backpack in the dryer, and called 1-800-GOT-JUNK to come over tomorrow and take it all away.
I checked into the hotel, showered, bagged up and threw away my clothes and shoes.
I’m surprisingly okay with absconding with my car and just enough belongings to fit in my trunk.
I don’t care.
I hate my life.
