I am having a difficult morning.
First, I am jolted from my freshly-snooz-button'd slumber by a rapping on the door at 8am, and it's a guy, who has been sent over by the landlord, to fix the water damage in our bathroom. It's nice (and of course, required) that she take care of it, but, at the time, I was appalled at the guy showing up unannounced... I later checked my voicemail and saw that she had left me a message, so... whatever.
Then, I walk into the bathroom and shriek because there's a cockroach in there (we NEVER have cockroaches) and it's being eaten alive by a swarm of those damned ants. It's still there. I am so disgusted by it I don't want to deal with it.
We head out the door to get a quick breakfast and drop Bren off at work. As I am about to return, my neighbour calls and says the exterminator, whose arrival I was even more keen on given this morning's adventure, had come and gone, and since I had left food out in the apartment, couldn't really spray the place. Which leaves me back at my apartment with a bathroom in disarray, a dead cockroach (and also now, dead ants since he sprayed the bathtub), other ants that may still roam freely in unpoisoned bliss, and Bren's as yet unpacked Burning Man stuff everywhere. Oh and technically, I'm not even supposed to be in the house because the spray is a bit toxic, but I have to wait here for the bathroom guys to return (who left because they didn't want to get similarly poisoned by the ant spray) so I can let them in to finish the job.
I think it's time for a latte.