I’m grouchy. I don’t like indoor air. I’m ungrateful. I haven’t eaten a proper breakfast. I think I’m irritated because of tobacco exposure and withdrawal. This extremely long rant took a couple hours to write. I hope it doesn’t take that long to read.

I slept at my coworker Kat’s house last night, Kat who worked with me both at Kaarma and Maki Yaki. She smokes, and I think I have tobacco withdrawal, because I have woken up somewhat irritable, judgmental, and angry, over nothing in particular and every little thing. She doesn’t smoke in the house, but must have tobacco contamination on her belongings and in her bed. Also, I took a shower last night, and I would have washed off all the tobacco from sleeping at Chris’s house a few nights ago. He smoked in the room with me and I got it all over my clothing. I still have it on my clothes now. So that could be contributing to the tobacco-withdrawal / exposure-induced irritation.

Her Korean roommate is awake now and in the kitchen, so I’m having some trouble concentrating. I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I got out of bed around 9:00 am.

Well, I might as well tell the things that I’m irritable about. This is going to be a lot like my notorious Christmas Ungratefulness Post. People are helping me, and I’m not happy about it. People are being very nice to me and I’m not grateful.

There are actually some people who have been nice to me and I’m grateful about it. The guys at Monte Carlo Pizza are usually giving me a free slice of pizza if I go over there carrying my credit card and attempting to order and pay for it. The guy who does this is the guy who I hesitate to call a ‘manager,’ because he isn’t a douchebag, he’s an ESFP I think, and he’s very awesome, but he’s always been there for years and he recognizes me from other times when I have hung out in the laundromat while homeless. He’s now telling the other employees to give me free pizza too. I mentioned to him at some point in the past that I was camping and so was by definition ‘homeless,’ but back then, I still had a job.

I don’t have a job now, but I will explain that if I still feel like it after ranting. I don’t know how much ranting energy I have. I’m on my second cup of instant coffee which is one of the things I’m going to rant about, except that this instant coffee doesn’t energize me enough to enable me to rant, so all the ranting is trapped inside screaming to get out but too tired to be typed onto the computer.

Anyway, there’s another guy at the pizza place who is helping me too, but I’m slightly less grateful and more distrusting, and oddly enough, as I don’t quite know what type he is, and suspect he could even be a dual (ENFP) possibly, but there are reasons why I’m slightly less trusting of this guy. First, he is black. I’ve always been a teensy bit racist, but now that I had a ‘reluctant sex’ incident which I cannot outright call ‘rape,’ with a black man, who gave me some kind of STD, since then I’ve been even more blatantly racist and
distrusting towards black men. I’m still okay with black women because they’re not raping me.

This guy also goes and gets me free pizza, but he gets it when I don’t even ask for it, and ever since he started doing this, he feels entitled to call me ‘gorgeous,’ as in ‘Hi gorgeous!’ This blatantly obvious behavior means ‘I’m getting pizza for you because I want you to fuck me.’ The other guy, the ‘manager’ guy, who I once said has a face that looks exactly like a Guy Fawkes (‘Anonymous’) mask, with exactly the same kind of smile, except kind and benevolent looking, might want to fuck me too, but is being much less blatantly direct and obvious about it, and is showing respectful self-restraint.

So, the black guy is also giving me free pizza and being nice to me but feels entitled to have a too-close relationship where he refers to me as ‘gorgeous,’ when everything I do is done is such a way as to make it impossible for anybody anywhere to refer to me as ‘hey gorgeous.’ I don’t wear makeup, I don’t style my hair except to part it in the middle and braid it, and it’s often messy and greasy when I’m camping and not living in a house, I don’t wear slutty clothes and I wear about ten layers of thick, baggy clothes that make me look obese because I need to keep warm, I don’t shave or wax my mustache whiskers… ‘Hey gorgeous’ does not describe me. This is my way of protecting myself, and he is violating this protection by giving me free pizza and assuming I am so desperate that I really NEED his help and my desperate need entitles him to assume he has a special relationship with me. And sadly he could possibly be an ENFP, too, I don’t know.

Okay, well, I was saying I wanted to rant about something, but the guys giving me pizza actually wasn’t what I had intended to rant about. I’m feeling slightly better now that I’m on my second cup of instant coffee, though. But let me see if I can remember what I have to rant about.

Kat and Charles have been very concerned about me and angry about how Maki Yaki fired me. Basically, I was off work for a couple months, for many weeks, almost all the way since before Thanksgiving, through all of December and January – I worked just a little bit in between the two holidays, if I recall, but because all the students go out of town, most of the restaurants have to shut down for the entire holiday season. That’s understandable and fine with me. All of us were off work. I went that whole time expecting that I was going to come back to work in January sometime.

But then, in January, I got a call from my mother from the hospital where she had been told that she has cancer really badly, and she and Dad had decided not to try chemotherapy or any other treatment, as it would just make her quality of life unbearable and she would most likely die anyway, just living a little bit longer but miserably. There might be truth to that if you are using nothing but conventional mainstream cancer treatments, but there might have been some fragment of hope if we had tried using holistic, nutritional, herbal, and alternative treatments along with it, it’s just that nobody respects me enough to be willing to take my advice and change their lifestyle in such a way, and eat the foods I tell them to eat, and so on.

I’ve never had an opportunity to really try throwing EVERYTHING at it, to really try as hard as I can to CURE cancer, to throw all of my knowledge and all of my alternatives at it, so I can’t claim that I know what I’m doing and I can’t express confidence that anything at all will help at all. I *am* actually confident that pawpaw really does work, except it’s just as bad as chemotherapy: it will make you horribly sick while it’s working.

So, I got this call from Mom at the beginning of January. On January 22nd, she was dead. It didn’t take long, She had been sick the whole year with something that was gradually getting worse and worse, making her unable to eat, and it became extremely bad in November and December, but they still didn’t know that it was cancer. Mom might have suspected something, maybe. I got the impression from Dad that Mom still had some hope it could be treated, when they told her at the beginning of January. But the one time when I saw Dad cry, it was when he told me about this conversation, where he said to her, ‘You know how you’ve always said that it wasn’t the quantity of life that mattered, but the quality?’ And he says that was what finalized her decision to not use any conventional treatments. His voice broke as he was saying this.

Well, here is how I lost my job. I already told this story but I’m telling it again. They were really just looking for an excuse to get rid of me, for their own reasons. Myro has a germ phobia and she was never thrilled about the fact that I was camping and wasn’t taking a shower every day, so that’s probably, I’m guessing, her number one reason for wanting to get rid of me. But I was also slow, except that…. it’s hard to explain.

I’m not necessarily slow in all circumstances while doing all kinds of tasks. I was chopping vegetables, and I didn’t do it fast enough for them, but that’s because I wasn’t the person responsible for making sure that all of the processes were being done, from start to finish. I would have to also learn how to cook, and also be the cashier, and I would be the person who would give the food to the customers, and I would be responsible for making our business profitable, from start to finish. In such a situation, I know exactly how much haste is needed, and exactly how the timing of everything must work out.

But when I am isolated and stuck in one tiny little task where I don’t see the completion of all the tasks and how they all work together, I don’t care at all about making haste. I don’t believe that forcing yourself to hurry is a good thing to do, and if you HAVE TO force yourself to hurry on the job, then the entire job needs to be redesigned in such a way as to make it so that hurrying doesn’t matter. JOB REDESIGN is what I feel that I am able to do.

It actually annoys me greatly whenever employers demand that you merely HURRY UP by means of brute force and sheer will. You must force yourself to simply work faster, in such a way that it is physically painful and mentally stressful. You must increase your mental focus and simply push a magic button in your brain where you will focus on nothing on earth except this deadly urgent task where somebody is going to drop dead if you don’t get this done in fifteen minutes or less. You must move your arms faster and move your hands and fingers faster, even if you aren’t skillful or coordinated, even if you are going to slice your fingers repeatedly with the knife because you just can’t move the knife that quickly.

Meanwhile, I have electronic mind control zaps that occur every few seconds, causing me to involuntarily lose focus. I do not entirely know what these are – they might be a vaccine-induced seizure, but they might result from somebody simply zapping me, and since I have never been inside a shielded room doing a task so that I could observe whether those zap interruptions keep happening, I do not know whether they are seizures or attacks by electronic weapons. Note: I do not wish to imply that I am not being attacked with electronic weapons, and I do not wish to imply that all of my symptoms are merely internal and caused by a ‘mental illness.’ I AM ABSOLUTELY BEING ATTACKED WITH ELECTRONIC WEAPONS.

However, there are such things as symptoms that come from inside you and result from some illness. Every victim of electronic weapon attacks must make an effort to distinguish from ‘normal’ symptoms that come from internal factors, versus abnormal symptoms that come from electronic attacks. This is never easy to do, and it’s easier for some people than for other people. I feel that I am relatively good at troubleshooting my own illnesses and distinguishing what I have control over, what is an attack, and what might be an illness that I don’t understand and don’t have control over but comes from inside. So I have a suspicion that it’s possible that I’m having recurring, frequent, chronic, vaccine-induced seizures that last a fraction of a second and that disrupt everything I’m trying to do.

The point is, it’s not a good idea for me to try to use brute force to speed myself up while cutting things with a sharp knife. Every few seconds, I suddenly lose control of my brain, body, eyesight, and movements, although not in an outwardly visible way that other people are able to see. I simply blank out for a fraction of a second, and this happens repeatedly over a certain number of seconds.

Every time this happens, I have to reawaken myself and refocus on the knife and whatever I’m cutting, and restart whatever I was in the middle of doing. It is not possible for me to handle a dangerous object at extremely high speed, although I am able to drive a car without a problem, because the amount of time that I spend blanking out is small enough that it still gives me enough time to respond to things going on while driving, and I drive slowly. I don’t want to exaggerate how bad this phenomenon is. Also, it probably happens to everybody to some extent, although not as badly as it happens to me. Everybody has talked about the phenomenon of driving ‘on automatic,’ where you are practically asleep while driving, and not really focused on it, so if it’s okay for people to do that, then it’s okay for me to have fraction-of-a-second blankouts.

Also, the movements in a car are gross instead of fine. The movement of cutting with a knife is a fine movement where there is a
life-or-death boundary that is a fraction of a millimeter wide. In a car, you can turn the wheel a fraction of a millimeter and it won’t make much difference at normal speeds, and since I’m not a racer driving 150 miles an hour, it doesn’t matter.

I’m actually supposed to be filling out job applications. That’s technically why I am letting myself be goaded into staying here. I feel sort of embarrassed to be sitting out in the living room typing on my laptop for hours, as this roommate goes in and out of her bedroom into the kitchen doing various tasks.

So anyway, okay. They sort of wanted to get rid of me because I’m ‘too slow,’ but I have a different belief and a different set of values. I believe that a company must make reasonable accommodations for the differences in people’s speed, although not entirely without limit. I believe I fall into that ‘reasonable’ area. I believe that if the differences in people’s speeds are of such huge importance that they actually matter and are having such a huge impact, then you need to redesign how the entire job is done and how the entire place functions, but this is because of a VALUE that I have, which is hard to articulate. I believe that the value of not pushing people, not causing injury, not causing difficulty, is greater than any other value, and so, if you are having a problem with those things, you must do everything in your power to somehow work around that and get around it without violating that value. ‘Never push anybody’ is my strongest rule. (There are actually exceptions to this. It’s just my basic way of functioning, which I default to. Again, this is hard to
articulate.) I believe that the entire workplace needs to be designed in such a way that it is fast and easy to do your tasks without being pushed, and designed in such a way that some time differences will have no impact.

So when I told them that I was going to go to WV to visit Mom, Myro told me that she didn’t want to put me back on the schedule because of the uncertainty, not knowing exactly which day I was going to leave and how long I was going to stay there in WV. She wouldn’t even let me work just a little bit for a couple of days before leaving. This uncertainty was apparently just SO TERRIBLE and SO INTOLERABLE that she HAD TO just get rid of me and then claim (falsely) afterwards that ‘the position has been filled,’ which is what she is now robotically saying to anybody who asks why Nicole can’t come back, and several people have indeed talked to her about this. And even after I came back from WV, after Mom died, and I’m really back here to stay, and I’m not about to suddenly go anywhere, NOPE, she still can’t put me on the schedule again.

So I have lost my job, basically for no reason, and Charles and Kat are angry about it. I assume Joseph is probably not thrilled about it too. Joseph was my friend. They have had discussions about this. Also, Paul. I can’t forget Paul. And I suspect Mike isn’t
necessarily my enemy, but he doesn’t want to go against Myro. Dave, I don’t know. I’m not sure whether Dave would be in favor of getting rid of me or not.

Okay. Charles is an ISFP. Kat is an INTP. Both of them have been texting, calling, and meeting with me since I got back to PA. I have been sick and miserable and reluctant to get out of bed. I am still hibernating – it’s very cold outside, and when I’m in a tent, there is nothing I can do but stay in bed as long as possible, and then get up and go someplace to eat whenever I am so hungry (or so craving caffeine) that I can’t bear to lie in bed any longer.

So, they are urging me to get up and try to apply for jobs. It was really only one particular job, and Charles picked me up in the car yesterday and took me over there so I could get the paper application, which I am going to fill out. It’s just a Minit Mart job, a gas station. I have worked at a gas station before.

However, as simple as this task might sound, it is not simple when Charles is the one doing it. Charles tends to rant angrily for a very, very long time, and he has been ranting about how I was unfairly treated, and about how the culture at Maki Yaki has been. He’s very angry that I was fired for no particular reason, and that this was done to me right at the worst possible time, in a time of hardship, when I was already suffering because my mom died. I myself feel that the worst thing about it was, I was anticipating all those weeks that I would very soon come back to work and would very soon have an income, so I did nothing to get another income. I just spent all my money all that time, expecting that, any day now, I’d be back to work at Maki Yaki and everything would be okay and I would have money again. If I had known, weeks and weeks ago, that I was going to be fired, I would have started looking for another job already and would not have just blindly spent all my money thinking that I would very soon have an income again any day now. They fired me AFTER I had already waited weeks and weeks and weeks and used up all my money.

So, Charles had to get out all of his ranting. And I’m being more racist than usual, so I was slightly paranoid about him, wondering when and how he was going to try to have sex with me, because he’s black. He’s actually from Africa, and still has an African accent, and Africans from Africa are usually more healthy than
African-Americans who grew up in the United States, although he has conjunctivitis, which I cannot explain and have always wondered about – there is some unknown thing which causes Africans to always have bloodshot eyes, and I don’t think he smokes marijuana, although I could be wrong. Maybe he has sickle cell anemia and maybe that causes bloodshot eyes. I don’t know. Since I’m being racist and paranoid about STDs, it occurred to me that maybe the universal African conjunctivitis is caused by their ubiquitous STDs, because there are some STDs that cause conjunctivitis. I don’t know if ‘conjunctivitis’ equals ‘bloodshot eyes,’ either. Maybe it is not the same thing.

So, I like Charles, but I’m also simultaneously thinking my racist thoughts about him, and comparing him mentally to Rich, who was also an ISFP but was a Korean born in the USA. Rich was much more attractive, in my opinion, and I came *this close* to getting together with him – there was a time when I suspected he might possibly be inviting me to stay at his house, because I was camping. I actually would have enjoyed getting into a relationship with Rich. I felt that the content of Rich’s insights was much deeper and more nuanced, that his intelligence was an order of magnitude greater, than Charles’s. It’s so horrible to say. I hate the fact that it is true. But I observe over and over that the nuances of intelligence that I can see in Asians are much greater than the nuances of Africans, who seem to speak in banalities and seem to be lacking insight, and are much slower. Unfortunately, I’ve also read somewhere else that there are EEG brain studies that show that their brains actually are operating at a slower speed.

All the racists are coming out of the closet now that Trump is around, even though Trump has attempted to say he isn’t a racist.

All of that being said, if I got into a relationship with an Asian, I would have to be aware that I, as a European, am an inferior race to them, and they will secretly be desiring the nuances of intelligence and understanding that they can only get from another Asian, an equal.

I said I was going to rant about my ungratefulness, but now, I’m thinking it might even happen that Kat will wake up and ask me what I’m writing, and could theoretically even ask to see my blog. In that case, it would not be a good idea to complain. I just was going to complain, why on earth do they have instant coffee, whenever they have a coffeemaker right there, and they’re living in a house, with electricity, so that it’s possible and easy to make REAL coffee? And not only is it instant coffee, it’s this stuff that comes in these tiny, narrow, tube-shaped single serving packages, so I’m not able to make a huge giant glass of it, but have to limit myself to one small cup at a time.

You have to understand how I drink coffee. I have to be completely off coffee cold turkey. There is no such thing as moderation for me. When I go back to drinking coffee again, the very first thing I do – the very first thing I *DID*, was go out and get the LARGEST POSSIBLE CUP from the convenience store, the 24 ounce cup. That was my very first reintroduction to coffee. I did not go and get a teeny tiny, dainty little 8-ounce teacup sized cup of coffee. Or however many ounces those dainty little teacups are. I did not start small and work my way up.

So you can understand how frustrating it is that I’m in someone else’s house and all that they have available – in spite of having a coffeemaker sitting on the counter – is these extremely tiny, dainty, fairy-sized servings of instant coffee, which in addition to being extremely small, are also extremely weak.

However, I understand why I am here. I am supposed to fill out this piece of paper. I have informed Kat that filling out an application is an unimaginable hell-nightmare for me, and that it often takes me WEEKS to fill out any kind of application for anything, no matter how important or urgent it is, no matter how life-threatening it is, no matter how huge the reward will be for filling it out – it doesn’t matter if I’m going to win a million dollars after filling out this piece of paper, I can’t do it. This is the reason why I am not already receiving a hundred different government benefits and welfare and free housing and everything else. If it requires paperwork, then it’s easier just to starve.

So. I discovered, after getting here, that Kat sleeps directly on the floor, with only the thinnest pad underneath her. And that I was expected to sleep in that same way too. There are no couches here, although there are some squishy chairs which I’m afraid to sit on because I don’t know who they belong to and if they belong to the roommate, I don’t want to sit on them. She’s going to be judging me and thinking I smell bad because my laundry hasn’t been done, and I’m a lazy person who sits around typing on the computer while SHE gets up early, gets out of bed, and starts doing hundreds of chores around the house, such as sweeping the cat litter off the floor, and vacuuming her bedroom, and taking out the trash, all of this before noon and all of it very quickly. Definitely the kind of person I would feel VERY uncomfortable living with! I am in contrast the laziest, messiest, most disgusting and worthless person on the planet.

It’s funny that I’m complaining about how Kat sleeps on the floor. I have actually done *exactly* the same thing for years and years, in almost exactly the same way. However, some things are different now.

I was actually sleeping on just a plain mat in my first apartment here, the house at Whitehall Road. It was just a camping mat. I think it might have been an ‘egg crate’ type of mat. I slept directly on the floor on that mat, and it wasn’t very comfortable, and I used that the whole time I was at that house.

Then I slept in a bed when I lived with my ex-boyfriend. Then, I slept on a mattress without a bed, but it was still a mattress, when I lived at the duckpond house. I was forced to get rid of that mattress because it was one of the first things that got contaminated with ephedra. So I went back to sleeping on the floor, and I slept on objects which were deliberately disposable, because I constantly had to throw them away.

So I actually went several YEARS, not merely a few months, sleeping on CARDBOARD on the floor, without any mattress. Cardboard was free and disposable and could be easily thrown away if it got contaminated. I know this sounds ridiculous, but I started using a roll of paper towels as a pillow, just because it happened to be the only thing I had available at the time which was disposable. I just needed to grab something that was soft enough to lay my head on, which was also disposable, and a roll of paper towels happened to be the thing I had available. So I slept on a broken down cardboard box with a roll of paper towels as a pillow, and no blanket at all, because blankets were instantly contaminated and had to be thrown away, as ephedra cannot be washed out of fabric in the washer… NO, IT CAN’T. I TRIED. So I slept with a space heater directly next to me, blowing extremely hot air constantly on me because I had no blanket, and I kept the heat in the house turned up very high so that I was never cold without a blanket, all winter long, during those years of contamination.

I said ‘some things are different now.’ My spine is curved. My hip joints are bad. I cannot lie perfectly flat on a perfectly flat floor without pain in my back. My spine has gotten curved, and I suspect that it might have been caused by exposure to secondhand residues of Fossamax metabolites excreted from my mother’s skin onto her clothing, which she then donated to me. I started wearing Mom’s donated clothing, and during that time period, my spine started to go bad. I started stooping. I also had an incident where I used a TINY DROP of gold coin grass, an herb from China, which people on the internet are claiming is able to dissolve the calcified stones in your gallbladder. When I say a TINY DROP, that is what I mean. I threw away the rest of it. I had the sensation that this substance was burning inside me, and it went into the bones of my legs, where I could feel it burning inside my bones, and this was ONE DROP of the liquid that I purchased. So I suspected that could have contributed to breaking down my hip joints and causing osteoporosis, as it was a substance intended to dissolve and remove calcium from the body.

I didn’t know my back had gotten curved and stooped until a coworker at McDonald’s pointed it out to me, Jim, who I suspected could be an INFJ. Or he could even be an ENFP, but for some reason I thought he wasn’t. I was wearing my huge green backpack with the metal frame, at the time, back and forth to McDonald’s. He pointed out that it seemed like that backpack was making me stoop forwards, and that I was stooping that way all the time. I had noticed it too, but wasn’t really aware of it. I only noticed that I was always looking downwards at the floor, even when I wanted to stand up straight. It took a painful effort to stand up straight. I have to do it
consciously, and it’s temporary.

So, I have osteoporosis, badly enough to stoop my spine. I have taken so many caffeine pills over these years. I lived briefly in Bellefonte during a time period when they were fluoridating the water, before they stopped fluoridating it, and I did not know that they fluoridated it, and this was shortly before I started having problems with my hips and back. There are many things that have contributed to giving me osteoporosis at the age of 42. I also have plastic dental fillings which leach bisphenol-A into my body constantly. And I have had a horrible diet for many years, because of camping and not having a refrigerator or a place to store food, while living in a society that does not make it possible or easy to obtain foods that are meant to be kept at room temperature safely, unless they are the worst quality processed foods.

So, for this reason, my hips and back are too painful for me to sleep on a flat floor anymore. Kat probably thinks that I’m okay with it because I’m camping, and in her imagination, camping on the ground is just as bad as sleeping on a flat hard floor. But there is no comparison at all. When I am camping, I create this ‘nest’ made out of sticks and branches, which I put under the tent. Although right now I don’t have that nest, because I was forced to move into my new tent in a hurry and didn’t have time to prepare the ground underneath it, as the police were slashing holes in my tent and telling me to leave, but even so, I do not have a perfectly flat surface that I’m sleeping on. It has curves and indentations in the ground, and I have this way of sleeping where I am against the side of a bunch of boxes and bags that are next to me under a tarp.

I am not sleeping on a perfectly flat hard surface. It’s slightly slanted, so that my head is elevated. I am able to move around on these irregular surfaces to get into the shape that is most
comfortable for me. I have control over this shape.

I have so many blankets and so many cushions that actually, I am enveloped in this gigantic, soft, warm mass of materials, which was MUCH SOFTER AND MUCH WARMER than I was while sleeping in Kat’s room on the floor last night. I was inside a house, supposedly in a situation that was going to be ‘nicer’ than what I experienced while camping, because everyone assumes that camping is hard, and living in a house is easy and comfortable, and merely by being indoors, I must be by definition more comfortable than I am sleeping outdoors in a tent. This is blatantly untrue.

When I sleep at Chris’s house, I’m sleeping on a futon in the living room. A futon is slanted whenever it’s in couch mode. I know because I used to have one that I slept on. This slant is kind of
uncomfortable, although I’m probably more comfortable on that futon than I was on Kat’s floor. However, at Chris’s house, the air quality is absolutely abysmal, whereas here at Kat’s house, it was merely bad. The abysmally bad air quality at Chris’s house is because he smokes indoors, even though Mike forbids him to. They also smoke marijuana indoors. Smoking anything at all is polluting the air.

I know a futon is called a ‘flip-‘n’-fuck,’ as that’s what they called it when I was in college. You’re supposed to be able to quickly and easily turn it into a bed. It’s a sign of my passivity that I refuse to even attempt to do this, and don’t even know how to do it, so I sleep on it in couch mode instead. I truly do not know how to flip a futon into a bed. I don’t want to attempt to do it, which would require me to move the coffee table (at Chris’s house), I don’t want to learn how to do it unsupervised without somebody teaching me and giving me explicit permission – I know this is ridiculous, but in all the time I owned a futon myself, I never flipped it into a bed. I think I didn’t have enough room in the location where I had it, if I recall.

Kat’s air quality is not so bad, so I can only assume she never ever smokes indoors at all. But it is still bad compared to the sweet, moist air that I breathe in my tent while camping. The air is never, ever dry. In my tent, there is a lot of condensation, which is kind of a nuisance, but at the same time, it is always wet, like living in a steam bath. I never, ever, ever experience this painfully dry dead indoor air that I experience while sleeping in somebody’s house, whether it has tobacco smoke in it or not – it’s terrible.

Did I feel that way in WV? For some reason, not so much. Maybe it’s because we have 300,000 houseplants???? Mom had a bunch of
houseplants at EVERY SINGLE WINDOW. There was literally not a single window in our big house that did not have a bunch of houseplants in front of it. I know, because I took it upon myself to water them once, after Mom died. This process took almost an hour! We have a large house. The job of watering the plants is a job in and of itself, something you could almost PAY somebody else to do! I don’t know whether Mom got all these plants as gifts, or if she bought them herself, but she always had them, for years and years and years. We have a gigantic indoor rubber tree which is, like, twenty feet high. It fits into our dining room, where the ceiling is extremely high, because of the design of our house – when you are on the second floor, you look over a railing to the lower floor – there is no ‘ceiling’ over the first floor, which makes it extremely hard to heat the house in winter. But because the ceiling is the underside of the roof, the ceiling is high enough for us to grow this gigantic rubber tree which is a few decades old. Mom has occasionally trimmed it back, but I could tell that hadn’t happened in a very long time.

I love the houseplants, but they are a huge pain in the ass. This is something where I am very grateful for what Mom did. It’s something I would never take it upon myself to do, although technically, I have done it in an indirect way, choosing to live in the midst of a forest where I don’t have to take the trouble of ever watering my
houseplants, and getting all the wonderful fresh moist air to breathe without any effort at all. I cheated. Mom had to do all the hard work to make her indoor air always fresh. She succeeded. I can tell. I wasn’t anywhere near as miserable breathing the indoor air while I was there as I am at anyone else’s houses.

The only reason why there is any breathable air at all here in Kat’s house and I’m not dying of suffocation is because there are a bunch of poorly sealed leaks in the wall in the bathroom. There’s a heater thing in the wall of the bathroom, which has cracks in the wall around it that fresh air is accidentally leaking through – I can feel the cold air. There is also a poorly sealed window in the bathroom, which seems to be closed, but which cold air seems to be seeping in around. Thank goodness that somebody did a sloppy job building this cheap apartment, or we’d all be dead by now. I hate places that are perfectly sealed. I hate it when they do a really, really good job of sealing it. They think they’re doing a good thing, preventing a single molecule of air from ever moving between the indoor and outdoor environment, making it cheaper to heat the place and saving a million dollars a year in heating bills. But they are wrong. Those sloppy leaks are the only thing keeping us alive.

Oh well.

I guess I might post this and spend a little time reading and deciding what else I might eat. I have a couple things. And…. I’m supposed to do this job application….

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