Moth Orgy

November 26, 2013 § Leave a comment

Tis time for the tale of the fall invasion. My home and my sanity was under attack. Don’t worry there’s a moral and happy ending, but this is no fable. I am not Aesop or Hans Christian Anderson. I’m pretty sure they would be pussies in a street fight.hans-christian-anderson

The first day of fall ushered in autumnal despair, but by the end of October it was a comedy of errors. All summer I had been getting my mind right, adult tendency style. Eating clean, exercising, beauty rest, and meditation. I would come home from yoga, lay out on my roof while enjoying guided meditation courtesy of youtube. It was fantastic, I was meeting my spirit guides, we’d have imaginary coffee and clean out my chalkras. I was full-on California crazy. Haters gonna hate.

The beginning of fall in SoCal is HOT, some of the hottest days make homes in late September. The good part about living by the beach is that this hot spell lasts for about three weeks then it’s back to being perfect. A 21 day blemish on our year round climate means we don’t have air conditioning. What’s better than an ocean breeze? Drinking a glass of wine while enjoying the ocean breeze (that’s about it). So when I wrapped up my meditation for the morning (which was interrupted by a slamming door, but it’s city not solitude), I left the bedroom window wide open, inviting the breeze in.

The next part of my routine would commence with working on my book (currently searching for an agent and publisher, if you know anyone). I was rooted in routine for 6 months, but this day would put a stop to my regimented bliss. I was on the lower level of my townhouse-esque apartment when I smelled a cigarette. “Fucking neighbor kid,” I thought. This punk was always sneaking out onto the roof trying to get addicted to things. I went up stairs and shut the bedroom blinds and the window (almost all the way) out of disgust. Back downstairs in my writing lair, I heard someone pacing on the roof above. I immediately felt bad for my neighbor kid accusations. Probably a cable guy instead. The connection is always going out, we live in an imperfect world. I went back to my procrastination– I mean, novel writing.

Then I heard the upstairs window open. What the what? “Cable guy, seriously, you have no business poking around in a strict internet only household.” I went up stairs to investigate. Two steps from the top I smelled the dirty sweat soaked stench of supposed cable worker. I enter an empty room. I pass our his and her closets to peek in the master bathroom. No one. I turn around to reveal, hiding inside the closet, my intruder, inches away from my face. From the stench, he was quite homeless, about my height, white, skinny, and holding a shit ton of Mister Red’s clothes. It didn’t even take a split second for me to go all mother bear on his ass.bear-mad

I ripped the clothes out of his hands and started screaming, “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!” A change cup fell out of his grip, coins clanging on the floor. This punk had a death grip on these clothes. As he climbed out the window he came in, I grabbed again at the articles, tugging on the last of my possessions in his hands. Leaving a trail of his bounty he rounded the corner to the roof access staircase. I shut the window behind him.

You can imagine where it goes from here. “He fixes the cable?” No, Dude, I call 911 and await his exit on my front balcony, which he makes through the parking garage. In the 30 Minutes it takes the cops to arrive, my downstairs neighbor comes home to find me all Repunzel panic, shaking from adrenaline. He cases the block and finds no one. Mister Red makes it home just as the cops walk up and we asses the damage together. He didn’t get away with much, a pair of ugly shoes I wanted Red to donate anyway, a broken ipod from 2005, and my sense of security.

I like to think it was my incredible hearing and quick response preventing the trespasser from noticing my jewelry box and the hidden cash stash, but it might also been the disarray of the room. It was messier than a 6 year old boy who spent the weekend with dad. The cops came up to investigate, took one look at the clothes strewn on the floor and the crap on the dresser and asked, “now was the room…like this?”

I hung my head in shame, “Yes, yes it was, I’m disgusting.” Even street vagrants have boundaries. Breaking into my bedroom was like attempting to sift through messy thrift store clothes after a black friday sale. You don’t even know where to begin and the chaos almost makes it not worth it. If I were him I would have taken one look inside and turned around. Too messy, not worth it.

The next week, I bribed good friends with free laundry. While they were using my washer and dryer, I snuck away to shower. There really is safety in numbers. As long as there was someone trusted on site, I felt safe.

In the weeks that followed, more unfortunate happenings came crashing down. I chased an overseas job offer right up until the last moment, denying that the hiring manager was being unprofessional. I fought off two swarms of termites. Our building put bars on our windows. Now I live in jail. One of the studios I was working at closed and another client didn’t renew a contract, thus losing almost half my bread and butter in the process. Moths infested the cupboards. After several nights of coming home to moth orgies, only two survive and I will kill them and any babies they try to have in my vaulted ceiling.

Sometimes events beyond your control force you to assess the state of your life. This fall my nose was being rubbed in the state of my life so far it felt like it wasn’t even my life. Shit does happen, you can’t get around it. Could I have kept my window shut? Sure, but I could have died from heat stroke instead of just a victim of a quick B & E. Should I have taken that job in Dubai so I wouldn’t be scraping by? Maybe, but I would be in despair over missing Mister Red and/or forced into sex trafficking. Should I have googled “moth orgy” sooner? Yes.

What’s the moral? Sex trafficking is not always a risk, but if it is, you should say ‘no’ to the opportunity. Don’t ever stand for moths to host orgies in your house, act immediately. And lastly… don’t deny trauma, accept change, react and adapt. Sometimes you have to sit in Hell’s waiting room to get a hall pass back to paradise. Paradise being grateful. Grateful for your life and all the people and things in it. The good things will remain while the bad things reveal themselves. Dispose of bad things properly.

And maybe consider self-defense training. Just in case you gotta throw some ‘bows ever.

satanswaitin8

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