The most hateful thing

The process of getting rid of bedbugs is perhaps the most hateful thing I've ever been through. First, both of us are slobs. We accumulate piles, hate to clean or clear out stuff, tolerate not only mess but dust, crumbs, never-used but never-discarded clothes, shoes, doodads. Second, Grumpy has just had heart surgery and can't be expected to do much. He "cleaned up" his side of the bed, which basically means I can now get into the area for actual cleaning. He is even messier than I am and a big baby about facing and dealing with this situation. The room has to be cleaned before it can be treated successfully. We are just lucky we don't have to clean the whole house, though the bedroom is the messiest part.

There is also the fact of a marriage coming to an end. I told him a month ago that I want to live alone. He didn't believe me. Then I went off on my road trip, came home to his heart surgery, and now bedbugs while he recovers from surgery. The subject has been tabled for now, though my conviction becomes ever stronger. It's going to happen.

Irony: While we (mostly I) labor indoors to rid ourselves of bedbugs, Grumpy's shiny new gigantic electrical bug zapper on the back patio sizzles and pops, executing harmless and beneficial gecko food, bird food, predators of lesser critters, carriers of pollen, and, oh, maybe a few mosquitoes but I doubt it. There is a very fundamental incompatibility here.