I’m taking a little break from living alone – not because I’m scared shitless of ghosts and rapists attacking me in the night, but because I really needed to do laundry. In case you’re wondering, I do have a washer and dryer but the last time I used the dryer it kind of exploded or something and then my fire alarm went off and that shit is LOUD so I decided never to use it again. So yeah, I got home to my parents’ at about midnight or 1 this morning (after seeing Inception! *SPOILER ALERT*: do you think the ending was a dream?). My parents are away and my brother was sleeping. I tip-toed into the washroom to complete my nightly routine of pissing and then tooth brushing. After flushing, I approached the sink. That’s when it happened. I noticed something so grotesque my eyes popped out of their sockets a little bit. There, right in the middle of the sink, was a HUGE effing moth. I’ve never seen one this big. It was the mother of all moths. It may have been the mothman from the Mothman Prophecies. I ran out of the bathroom, slammed the door and haven’t been back in there since.
Moths are approximately one million times scarier than ghosts and rapists. They are my biggest fear. I can’t explain why. I kill spiders by squishing them with my index finger. Sometimes I even let them live because they don’t bother me. But moths. I can’t even. They are repulsive. And did you ever kill one? It’s like they’re made of dust. If you accidentally kill one on your jeans, their dusty asses will stain your denim. I find this more disgusting than cannibalism. While we’re on the subject, I’m equally scared of butterflies. Horrible creatures.
So now I’m screwed. My house has three bathrooms but I only ever use the one the moth is currently in. I can’t poop (and I really have to), brush my teeth or shower. I’m going to have to change my entire life because of this. I want to check if the moth has died yet but I can’t bring myself to open the door. What if it flies out? What if after it flies out, it goes into my room, hides in my sheets and touches my body at night? That would really freak me out! Their wings have a super weird consistency! They’re like velvet, and I coincidentally can’t stand velvet. Touching it sends shivers down my spine. When I was 14 and going through my short-lived goth phase, I’d shop at Cruella and have no choice but to avoid 3/4 of the merchandise.
So WTF do I do about this thing? Also, what are you scared of? I’m pretty terrified of mimes and bridges but my mottephobia really takes the cake. I wanted to post a picture of a big gross moth to go along with this post but my eyes automatically squinted and closed as soon as I typed the search words in.
I bought a condo last year. I’ve been set on moving out since I was 19 so I was really stoked. I wanted to rent an apartment but my parents were all, “Italian people don’t rent.” They don’t? That can’t possibly be right. Anyway, I bought my place before it was built; that way, I got it for cheap (I don’t think I could get a closet in NYC for the price I paid), I got to customize how I wanted it to look and I had time to save extra cash. I actually saved over $20,000, which is pretty epic for me. Speaking of epic things, I used words like “mortgage”, “down payment” and “backsplash” for the first time. Those are adult words! But it’s cool; that’s just stuff you say when you’re a grown up.
I officially moved in a week ago. After all these years of anticipation, I finally did it. And so far, it’s been fun. I mean, it’s not exhilarating – I don’t have cable or internet yet – but it’s fun. I ride Bixi bikes. I hang out in my underwear every day. I sit around. I drink a lot of beer. I eat the outer chocolaty layer of my Swiss Rolls, then open up the cake part, then lick off the cream, then eat the cake. I fart a lot. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m living the dream…
But there’s a problem. I can only live the dream during the day. I’m scared shitless at night. I was fine for the first couple of nights, but then someone knocked on my bedroom window at 4 o’clock in the morning. Who does that? I’m on the bottom floor (which is a nice way of saying I’m in the fucking basement) so I feel like this has the potential to happen often. Now when I go to sleep, I subconsciously force myself to wake up every hour to make sure I’m alive. There is a knife and an extremely bright flashlight in my night table; I don’t think I could ever stab someone but I could definitely try to blind them. I’m thinking of getting a gun. Again, I probably won’t ever use it (except at the shooting range because I’m kind of a bad ass) but I think it’ll be good to have. And I could call it my ‘piece’, you know.
I hate that I’m so paranoid. Since I’ve moved, I’ve seen a shirtless man smoking crack, three shirtless men with mental health problems, and 15 to 20 shirtless men drinking 40s. Does no one work or wear shirts in this neighborhood? I also found a syringe on the ground and saw a cyclist get hit by a car. Oh, and I read that a crazy guy randomly stabbed three people, including a 74 year old man, at a cafe a short walk from my place. Oddly, none of this scared me. It’s really the knocking on my window that freaked me out. You have no idea how terrified I was. I was covered in sweat (even moreso than usual). I somehow brought myself to look outside but it was too dark to see anything. My friend Vince tried to calm me down by saying it was a ghost but that made it worse.
How can I stop worrying at night? Will I be a scaredy cat forever?
I’m pretty sure I have a sweating problem. Or like, a sweating disease. The weird thing is that I rarely get pit stains or B.O. or any other tell-tale signs of perspiration – I’m just constantly covered in a thin but very shiny coat of sweat. Every part of my body sweats equally. Sometimes I swear I can feel my hair sweating. I know it sounds like I’m whining but trust me, it’s bothersome. It’s been especially annoying this week as Montreal is currently experiencing a heatwave. In the span of four days, my disease has gotten nine to ten times worse. I think my skin is melting. It wouldn’t be so bad if I felt others were as miserable as I am, but no, everyone seems to be tolerating the scorching weather quite well. While I am forced to alternate between my two pairs of acceptable length jean shorts and white or black t-shirts (any other color will reveal my extreme sweating), perfect Montreal girls are prancing around all over the city in their vintage summer dresses and cute shoes. Bitches! I am so, so jealous. I want to wear dresses and not have my bare thighs rub together, working up a heat so intense it feels like I’m dying in a fire. I want to wear strappy sandals or oxfords made of leather or other sweat-inducing materials and not have my feet make squishy noises as I walk. I want the possibility of wearing makeup without it leaking down my face. Instead I am forced to sport the same boring look, over and over again.
Today (like every other day), I was wiping beads of sweat off myself in the metro. I noticed that everyone was looking at me, their dry faces pitying my wet one. I then spotted a morbidly obese woman. She, too, was looking at me. She was aggressively stamping a beach towel all over her cheeks, neck and chest. She gave me a look of comiseration and acceptance, and slightly nodded her head – an “I understand,” perhaps. It was sweet and all but as far as I know, I’m not in the same category as this woman. I don’t have any health problems or addictions that would lead me to sweat like crazy. This sucks.
I’m sick of having to take ice cold showers as soon as I get in from my bike ride home; I’m sick of my hot face turning beet red; I’m sick of my ass sweating; I’m sick of my sweaty bangs morphing into a devil lock (well that one’s kind of cool, actually). I can’t wait for this heatwave to be over so I can go back to being the attractive, moderately sweaty person I once was.