Sunday, November 10, 2013

Black mold, cancellations, and cripling pain
I don't know what you're doing this weekend, but I hope it's better than what I'm doing.

We seem to have some kind of mold or mildew problem that has multiplied with all of the recent humidity that autumn brings to Lucca. I am worried that the roof or something is leaking into the walls, but F thinks it is just an opportunistic mold that is spreading. He bought a special kind of paint. The bottom line is that he opened all the windows. The only positive side to the cold draughts is that it was the annual moment of breaking F down and convincing him to turn on the heat, which is an added expense that, if living alone, he would probably never take on. We had to bring our mattress out to sleep on the living room floor which would have been okay if I was not experiencing the most cripling sciatic pain I have ever had in my life. It starts in my lower back, but goes through my groin down my shin to a burning patch in my heel. I seem to be allergic to either the mold or the paint fumes and now have a full on sore throat and cold symptoms. I don't know if the stress of extricating myself from the gym like a less successful Katie Holmes wrenching herself from the grips of Tom and the scientologists is what has triggered it all.

It could have been the trauma of having my face torched. After my regular session of unpleasant, but mild laser treatments from the German Barbie doctor, I had her blast off three dark spots. I had suggested that she use a different kind of laser because the mild one didn't produce results. What I didn't know is that she would use something like a blow torch and that I would be left temporarily with three blooding holes where the spots used to be. As I slowly scab over, a process that has been retarded by the amount of humidity and black mold in our home, I have had time to cancel all of these lovely invitations with patient friends who are probably on the verge of giving up on their limping, scabby ex fitness instructor.

On a positive note, I have been obsessively watching a little known television program called Styled to Rock, where a bunch of eccentric creative types have to make pop star inspired outfits for a panel of famous English people I have never heard of that are led by, of all people, Rhianna. IT IS BETTER THAN CRACK, but only slightly less addictive. What's that sound? Ah that is the sucking sound of silence for the money that I am not earning by having morals and standards. I love Sundays.

p.s. Don't google black mold under images, it is alarming. I think we just have mildew and not something worthy of men in white suits and women crying, which is the overall theme of the images which emerge.

Apart from my own personal marathon, here you have the marathon of Lucca.

"I hear the Americans' house is full of black mold, any thoughts?"

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