I keep telling people that I have been cursed. That's the only way to explain how Novembers can keep turning up as rotten as they have.
Why this year? Simple.
Apparently my entire apartment building got bedbugs. No one knows the source, but every single unit in this building had been colonized by the little bloodsucking bastages.
So the exterminators had a field-day around here, spraying everything down with a double-dose of pyrethrin. (Could be the wrong insecticide, but I distinctly remember one of them saying that.)
I knew I couldn't leave my cats around for it, though. Not even locked in the bathrooms could Alice have withstood it due to her very low body mass. And where one goes, the others must as well, simply on general principles. And so, every bit of my expendable income for the month, plus my roommate's, after setting some aside for exterminator's fees, got used to put them up for the night.
So. I'm broke. I had my entire apartment taken apart. And my cats spent three days hating the sight of me.
But not all is quite lost, for I had set aside enough to let me go out and release some stress night. Which means that this year, for the first time since the late '90s, I actually get to go out and celebrate on my not-un-birthday rather than shoving it off until some later time.
Yup. I'm going dancing. The Chargers won. I have no insect infestation. And my cats are speaking to me again.
Wow. For once, I have a November that just might end well.