I can't sleep. I'm supposed to get up in less than 5 hours to get ready for DH's appointment in Baltimore, but for the life of me I can't sleep.

I keep thinking about those fleas. I know I freaked out about the fleas, but I think it's really disgusting. I don't know where they came from. When the live-in husband brought it up, he said that maybe we brought them in on our pants legs or something. I don't think that's possible, since we never had a flea infestation before they moved in and the fleas are only in the basement. In all the time we've lived here, I may have found a flea or two from time to time. But even for all the time I've spent outside doing yardwork, I've never had a flea problem in our home. The cats don't have fleas. We rarely even have spiders in our house.

The live-ins have 3 cats and he told me that they only escaped outside once. He also told me that they don't have fleas on them. DH thinks that the fleas may have come from the "great buys" the the live-ins find at Goodwill. I think that's possible, but I thought that Goodwill was pretty picky about what's sold in the store as far as cleanliness goes. Or at least I've never seen any fleas any of the times I've been in there.

They set off 3 flea bombs in the basement this evening. I guess we'll see if it works. I'm a bit peeved that they've known about the fleas for a few days as the husband put it, and they didn't say a thing to us. It would certainly explain why the wife washed everything that they own (thus causing me to have to put off my own laundry for another week). They must have been embarrassed. And rightfully so. Even my extremely dirty in-laws have never had a flea infestation. I still think it's rude that they didn't speak up when they discovered the fleas. If the flea bombs didn't work, they're paying for the exterminator.

I made an interesting discovery while I was laying in bed not sleeping.

I know my mom suffers from split heels. I used to suffer from split skin at the top of my ears, especially if I wore sunglasses for any length of time.

As it turns out, I somehow managed to get a split in the top of my tooshie crack. There's no lady-like way to say butt crack, is there? I don't even remember how I discovered it. All I know it that I felt a stinging sensation down there and of course I had to reach down and see what was going on...which hurt like the dickens. I went into the bathroom and twisted as much as I could to try and investigate in the mirror, and there was the pinkish red split right in the middle. I put some antibiotic ointment on it because I figure that's probably one of the worst places to have an open wound.

I don't know how I could've gotten it. It's not like I've been scratching down there or stretching it too far... Maybe it's just dry skin.

Has anyone else suffered from something like this? I tried looking it up on google, but all that came up were some really strange-looking results that I didn't dare explore. I hope it's not a sign of something serious. I doubt it is. I'll just have to see how it heals. It's such a weird problem to be having...

The live-ins are settling on their house this Thursday. They're not moving in until the weekend. It's like they planned to wait until we were going on a trip...but they didn't know we were leaving...or did they?

DH mentioned to the husband about the fact that our bedroom doors have been wide open every time we got back from our trips (specifically the D.C. trip). He said that he needed to borrow a towel.

*strokes non-existent beard*

That sounds fishy to me. They have plenty of towels of their own. How do I know? I've had to fold them. There was never a towel missing from the small stack in our bathroom. I'm sure they know where the linen closet is that's full of towels. I'm sure they've been through enough of our things to know that even the front bathroom, which has no shower or bathtub, has towels under the sink.

Oh well. None of this will ever clear the air, so I might as well stop asking.

I suppose I'll go back to bed and try to catch 4 1/2 hours of sleep.

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