the enemies

Written June 4, 2011

Note: If you get squeamish about gross stuff, maybe you should skip this entry. I wrote this in my journal, and wasn’t sure if it I should post it. Mneh, why not?

Sometimes you hear these noises, and you’d just rather not know what they are. Other times you hear things or people, and you think they’re in your house, only to find out it’s a neighbor—the houses are really close together.

The worst thing though, is seeing a creature’s shadow, but not the creature itself. Your imagination provides no comfort during these times.

the enemies at work

Right now, my biggest enemies are mold and roaches—both of them are increased residual effects of the nonstop rain we’ve been having over the last week and some change. Both of them threaten my feeling completely secure (and clean) in my dwelling place.  Mold is currently growing in on my once immaculate red, Old Navy fleece; it’s now red with one increasingly white sleeve. Every time I look at it, I struggle with whether I should attempt to wash it with detergent, ask my dona to wash it right away (before it grows whiter), wait it out or just go ahead and throw it away. So far the answer has been to wait it out every time.

Since the rain’s been so present, we’ve had roaches in the house every day for the past five days or so. (And, of all creatures, I have a debilitating disgust of roaches.) Last night I woke up at about 5a.m. having to use the bathroom. When I opened my room door I saw a roach walking casually into the bathroom under the door. “Really?” I thought. “Like right as I’m about to go in?” I felt like someone had just cut me in line and now I could either wait for her to finish, or belligerently demand that she get out, cause I know she saw me about to go in. My bladder tugged on me like a three-year-old on the arm of  her mom talking to an old friend. I started to squat slightly, almost dancing to try to keep nature from…happening. “UGH!!” I growled in my head. “What to do? What to do??” My discomfort grew, and I heard my host brother toss in bed as if to say, “Hurry up and turn the light back off,” from the depths of his subconscious. I remembered that I had a container on the shelf. “No, I’m not going to pee in this thing. I’m just going to hold it.” I swayed from side to side, hoping the urge would quickly subside. It intensified. I knew I had to do my business, and soon. I reconsidered using the toilet and in my head I played out the scene:

I open the bathroom door, peer around the corner in search of that…thing. No sign of it. The coast is clear. I double-dutch it for second, but, hesitating, I finally enter. Slowly, apprehensively, I reach for the elastic of my shorts, until out sprawls the enemy from out of nowhere. That delinquent. There are two alternate endings: (1) I kill it after quite the fight, and waking my brothers, or (2) I don’t kill it, after quite the fight and waking my brothers, either still having to use the bathroom, or having peed on myself.

Ugh! Not much time left. I have to decide, immediately. Okay, I’ve got to do it, no other choice. I grabbed the container, and just as I opened it, the hum of the refrigerator deadened, rendering the atmosphere shamefully too still. I now had no buffer for the sound of me peeing in this thing. Last chance to turn back. Ooh! Hurry, decide something. 5…4…3…okay! Okay! Unscrew the top, position it, is it…okay…sigh! Relief. I had just peed in a cup. Lol I hope this rainy season ends. Soon.