Dirty Little Secret

Ok I am going to just say it. Spit it out.



I HAVE LICE.

Yes, I said it. I meant it too. Our house has been plagued by lice for several months now. It started with a visit from a friend. She found out while visiting that her daughter had it. And the fun began. Everytime we get rid of it someone else in the neighborhood passes the nasty visitors right back. And WHY do they pass it back? Because we are all to ashamed to admit that we even have it. Because lice is dirty, right? There is such a stigma attached that rather then admit to having lice we all just keep pretending as all the boys suddenly find being bald is totally in fashion and no one is letting anyone in there houses. "Lets hang outside!" Because we are dirty, dirty, dirty.

BUT the truth is this: Lice prefer clean heads. Did you know that? They can't breath in that oil, can't reach your life saving blood through the crap. So the truth is, if you have lice, it is probably because you are CLEAN people. Who the hell invented this shit anyway? What god decided LICE was a great idea? What purpose do they serve to the whole? Punishment? Have I been very, very bad?

So we have done everything, RID, SLATHERED OUR HEADS IN VASA-FUCKING-LINE, nit picked for hours, but those fuckers keep on coming back. Now we are trying the wash your hair with Denorex and coconut conditioner and blow dry for 10 days route. This time, we shaved the boys heads so they won't have this problem. This time somehow, Layla doesn't have any lice. This time I am the only one with BUGS IN HER HAIR. (I bet your head is itching RIGHT NOW). THIS time, I told my neighbors. Because I would rather be shunned by hypocrites then eaten by bugs.

There isn't much point in this blog. Just wanted to say it out loud. Besides, Nicki is the only one who ever reads this anyway. LOL.

Forget

Yesterday, I took the best nap. 2 hours of deep sleep late in the afternoon. Unfortunately, it was a mistake, as almost all late afternoon naps are. The inevitable happened when I went to bed for the night, as I tossed and turned with my mind going a mile a minute, it was clear, sleep wasn’t going to happen again soon. So I got up and went to watch TV. I had wanted to watch Private Practice anyway and my husband deplores the show so it seemed like a good time to watch it. 

Boy was I wrong. First off, let me breakdown Private Practice for you. Hot doctors run a private medical practice in which they almost always cause more harm than good. Such as voicing their opinions to patients, writing books about them, having sex with them, kidnapping them. Whatever, don’t judge me for my nighttime soap addiction. It is ENTERTAINMENT. Except with this series, it is ALWAYS tragic. Like, I cry every single episode; which is why Eddie has banned it in the house. He says it is pointless depression. He is probably right. Well, last night’s episode was expected to be a doozy. One of the doctors, a neurosurgeon, fell off the wagon and was going south fast. I should have known better. The show ended with her sticking a fucking needle in her arm. 

Why, why, why do I do this to myself? Jeremy was already on my mind. My cousin sent me some great pics of us as kids playing at Grandmother’s house and this one in particular has Jeremy with this wonderful giant cheese grin.  I forgot that Jeremy was a goofball, forgot that he could smile like that. Forgot, forgot, forgot. 

So I went to bed, and tried to forget, forget, forget the image of that woman shooting up, tried to not put Jeremy’s face in her place. I don’t know which hurts more - Jeremy as a dead junkie or knowing that he was once a silly, smart, goofy kid once. Forget, forget, forget…….