On Friday I had to skip song practice so I
could get my place ready for a cockroach treatment. I worked steadily for about
five and a half hours and yet I still didn’t get everything done that I wanted
to. The Orkin guy didn’t come till around 12:30. I hadn’t been sure about
whether or not I should put the cats out. He asked how bad the infestation was
and I told him there were a lot of roaches, so he told me to put the cats out.
That took me about five minutes. I showed him the problem areas: the stove and
fridge sides of the kitchen, the bathroom and the cat feeding area. He told me
that he was going to use a dust treatment but that I’d only have to leave for
fifteen or twenty minutes.
I
took about $2.50 worth of empties to the Beer Store and then came home. I
probably should have stayed out longer than fifteen minutes. I could feel that
I was breathing the floating dust even after fifteen minutes. I don’t think
that he dusted in all the problem areas but rather just the main one. I don’t
know much about the dust, though it might be boric acid based, but it would be
nice if it poisoned their poop, since the charming creatures eat each other’s
feces. I saw a couple of roaches going crazy though as a result of the
treatment. I put them out of their misery, or mine. Maybe misery is too strong
a word. A reflex in response to danger makes them look like they’re panicking
and since they don’t really have nerves they probably just shut down when they
are killed.
I
went to PARC to teach my yoga class and on the way to the Healing Centre I ran
into Bob Rose, who I’d met one day when he was occupying the Healing Centre
with his anti-gentrification committee and their meeting went a little too
long. We’d chatted but hadn’t formally introduced one another. He was on his
way outside with a cigarette when he stopped to talk. It danced around in his
hand and sometimes found its way to his mouth. It was in a hurry to get out of
the building so it could burn. He told me that he should come and take my yoga
class because he’s been neglecting his meditation. I pointed at his cigarette
and told him it wasn’t helping him any. He informed me that he only smoked for
on reason: “I need the tar to fill the potholes of my soul.” And then he walked
away.
Michelle,
Anna and Diane came to my yoga class. Michelle came on time but Anna is always
about ten minutes late. Diane was even later this time. I don’t have the chance
to teach a well-rounded class when they are tardy like that. They asked about
breathing exercises and I told them that when one learns to relax, one’s
breathing becomes correct and that yogic breathing exercises are a type of
psychic bulimia.
After
class I did my laundry, so I wasn’t finished until early evening. It would take
days to put everything away again, so I sure hoped the treatment put a big dent
in the infestation.
On
Radio Canada I heard a song called “My Dance Floor” by an Acadian band called
Radio Radio (I assume one “radio” is pronounced the English way and the other
in French as “Rahdio”). The song begins, “I see you dancing! Why are you
dancing? Get off my dance floor! Get off my dance floor!” It really captures a
certain attitude of certain people that go to dance clubs. I’ll bet the song is
popular on the dance floors. This particular song is all in English, but the band
frequently raps in an anglicized type of Acadian french called “Chiac” that
also uses some aboriginal words.
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