I’ve been pretty lackadaisical about posting lately. Apologies. Also, my poll has reached a stalemate, so please cast a few more votes before I take it down tomorrow. Vote early, vote often, as they say in Chicago.
Anyway.
The drawbacks to being a grown-ass woman living with one’s retired parents are obvious, of course, but I’ve since learned to adapt. Yes, the daily schedule and habits took a bit of adjusting-to (they’re often ready for lunch by approximately 10:30 and I’m the only one who ever cleans the freaking microwave – seriously, people!), but these are minor irritations that can be excused and/or worked around. These are my folks, after all, and I love ’em dearly.
Among these lovable eccentricities, however, are a few things more irksome in nature – namely, the air in this house.
I’m not very familiar with desert climes, but I’d venture a guess that this address very closely approximates that environment. I imagine that if one were to measure the humidity within our home, the hygrometer would basically crumble apart in this soul-sucking aridness. Seriously – all of the moisture is slowly vacuumed out of my skin throughout the course of a day. Frequent applications of super-duper lotions have little effect. It’s really irritating and quite uncomfortable – physically and mentally.
Who wouldn't want this in their house?
So right now, I’m doing research into humidifiers. On one hand, I have no idea if purchasing one will help the situation or just make it worse (I’m imagining myself holding chapped and raw hands above it like a hobo over a trashcan fire, greedily inhaling from the cloud of vapor and slapping aside anyone who gets too close). I mean, will one teeny humidifier in one teeny bedroom will do anything to affect a 6-room house? Doubtful. On the other hand, there sure are some cute humidifiers out there. I mean, the most difficult decision I’ll make all day is whether I want an elephant or a frog spitting water molecules into my breathing air.
Are my complaints, overall, minor? Of course. But if I didn’t have anything about which to complain, I wouldn’t have anything about which to write, and nothing about which you would look forward to reading.
the sloppy copy 