The mechanism

This isn't wisdom. Things that occur to you to write down when you're stoned seldom are. My typing, normally moderately aged turtle speed, has decreased to that of a geriatric, gastric impaired turtle. So I'm constipated as well as arthritic, that is, if turtles even get arthritis. I'm inclined to say yes, with all that crawling they do, flexing the same old turtle joints, year after year...anyway, I digress. A lot. So stop it, already, why dontcha?

Ok, but the tidbit of information that I wanted to pass along is this: I think I figured out the mechanism behind my chronic illnesses. All of them. Well, most all. Are you ready?  <drum roll....> It's MOLD!

Why do I get eye infections if I spend too much time on the downstairs couch? Or too much time in the house in general? Why would they be getting more and more frequent, along with skin rashes, along with GI trouble, along with night sweats? And why, when I spent more time outdoors, walking, biking, doing virtually anything, would I feel better, if only temporarily? Why is it bad in the summer or winter, but less so in the spring or fall? The last one is easy: indoor air quality. Spring and fall = open windows. Summer and winter, closed windows, no fresh air and ducted AC or localized space heaters making a nice breeding ground for hibernating spores. 

I found a giant source of black contagion on my bathroom window run channel and all around the sill. It was thick enough to scoop up sizeable wads in some toilet paper, requiring two or three wipes just to reach bottom. I did the best I could scrubbing down to the bare surface, but it was stained several layers in. I sprayed Lysol and then vinegar, leaving the last to air dry for a couple of hours. 

I got out a UV light and waved it around the walls and floor. Oh, my god. It looked like a crime scene no one had bothered to clean up. Every little fleck of biological material illuminated like the pinpoints of stars in the night sky, unfathomably numerous. Big ones, like galaxies, and tiny ones, spatter cast, making one wonder if there actually had been an "incident" on the premises. Or perhaps, nothing had ever been cleaned, EVER!

When I was laying around waiting to die, and not even bothering to make a nice comfortable domicile in which to do so, the mold decided to get busy and start in on me before my actual demise. Kind of like an appetizer. I'm such a good host that I obliged. 

But fuck it, little fuckers, I've had enough. I'm gonna get you and your little spores, too! I'm gonna be the the spray bottle gunslinger, the terrorist with an extermination agenda. Kill--or be killed, slowly, miserably with unnecessary illness. I mean, some of this is inevitable, but I'm not going down this way. Not yet. I'm not going to be a fungus casserole. 

This is my declaration of war. You molds obviously couldn't abide by the treaty "Live and let live," so it's going to be live and let die. One of us has got to go, and it had better be the wallpaper.