Writing in Flea Heaven

Found here

I spent 10 hours today writing an article, sitting at the dining room table. It is an article that was prompted when a graduate student in the Midwest called out of the blue and asked if she could be part of my research team. Since I didn't have anything for her to help with, I suggested that she start gathering articles for a critical review manuscript. She is the most motivated young woman I've met in awhile: good writer, hard working, eager to learn. After a couple months she sent me a list of articles. After telling her how to proceed, she then produced a rough draft of an article that was quite good, given her lack of professional writing experience and gaps of understanding about research. However, what this has meant for me is that since I'm first author, I'm responsible for the final writing, editing, and submission to the journal. She wants to use this article as part of her portfolio that needs to be ready for application to a PhD program this fall. Since this student has been very patient with me, I decided to take a week of my vacation and hammer this out.
The topic is one that would leave many cold in their tracks. It is entitled, "Mixed-Orientation Marriages: A Critical Review of Peer-Reviewed Empirical Work." Mixed Orientation Marriage (MOM) refers to marriages between gay or bisexual individuals and a heterosexual person. Suffice it to say, I'm just about sick of the topic after summarizing 15 research studies that pertained to it today. Particularly when a very scary movie came on that Sam was watching, and that I couldn't help following as I tried to focus on a particularly badly written study (It took two hours to summarize that one!) The movie turned out okay. I think it was a Mission Impossible movie with Tom Cruise. I remarked to Sam that if any two people experienced the extreme degree of psychological trauma the two characters did in that movie, they would not be able to live a normal life afterward and would probably lose their marriage. He agreed sagely, and I returned with a vengence to my studies of marriages that struggle to survive.
Perhaps the worst thing about my writing experience today is that I suddenly started scratching my ankles and legs. There's nothing to see--no bites or anything else. But I itch all over. I noticed it the other day when Otis started scratching like a monkey. After a visit to the vet it was determined that our house is probably flea infested.
"Flea eggs lie dormant until they feel vibrations. So if a house has been standing empty for awhile, it is probably full of flea eggs." The implications of that statement are truly awful.

So Otis has had worm medicine and isn't allowed to go out into the garage until we spray flea and tick killer there and all over our property. Because the vet also informed us that our yard and garden are probably full of fleas, too.
Meanwhile, we have an appointment to have the carpets steam cleaned and sanitized, and I'm hopping into the shower with the paranoid hopes of drowning whatever little characters are leaping over my body. Not that I've even seen a one, but the power of suggestion is pretty strong.

Tomorrow I will have completed this article. Tuesday I return to work. By Friday, our house will be new and improved inside. Tonight I'm putting up our pictures and rearranging some final items upstairs. Time moves on. I hope the invisible army of fleas will, too.