August 16 — The plague

They were everywhere, hordes of dead fruit flies. Across the counter. On the floor in the corners and under the sink. All over the bathtub. On the walls. Hovering in the air.

I had brought two extra rags. It was time to do battle. I used the first until it was covered in tiny black bodies. That took care of the majority of them. The second rag mopped up the remnants. The third actually cleaned the bathroom. Finally I had the counter and tub clear. But the spot checking continued. Flies landed on my white surfaces. It seemed some even died in midair and fell where their dead brethren had lay only minutes before. The task began to feel endless. I would never get every last fly in this room. But I pressed on. Getting rid of the dead ones would do, I figured. It would be a few days before another group arrived.

Lauren texted me asking for a status update. I’d told her I had two more bathrooms. This was one of those two.

“It’s like the plague!” I said.

“You can do it!” she replied. In my mind’s eye I could see her cheering me on. I texted her a gif of Aragorn striding into battle.

“This is how I feel.”

The day may come when I break down during a full house strip and reset, despairing of ever finishing the task, ready to break all bonds of fellowship. But it was not this day.

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