Hee hee dust mite

 

There. That's my day's work. Isn't he lovely.  Wanted a record of this for posteriority because I'm going to have to hide him now and that might ruin him altogether.

I must say I got fond of this gadgie the more I drew him. He performs a useful service in my life in dealing with my terrible incontinence of dead skin cells. Yes, I am allergic to dust mite faeces, but that is my problem, and down to having an immune system that thinks it is the military junta of a tin-pot dictatorship, and whose general performance is played out as 'bad cop, ineffectual cop' .  And, when  it gets bored of persecuting mildly infective agents it is prone to savage in-fighting and creating unnecessary factions which lead to the immobilisation of infrastructure and ends with tying up everything in red tape, leaving genuine antagonists free to slip through scot-free.  (Sneeze a lot, inflame the mucous membranes, get a cold. Not the dust mite's fault!)

Above is under UV light, below the same under daylight. Hee hee.

The Bloody Avant-Garde

Here's me, performing my spoken word piece 'The Bloody Avant-Garde' at the Drill Hall last year. Fabulous photos by Katherine Emtage.

how clean is your hose?

Even I am beginning to be a bit revolted by the fascinating biodiversity that was hanging out on the shower head. Perhaps it was a 'don't try this at home' thing after all.

I mean it wasn't really that bad, look!
I mean, it wasn't even "...oh God and I simply must remember to bleach that shower head before The Cleaner gets here and can you just pop a seed bar in Daniel and Nigella's lunchboxes darling yes Nigella I know everyone else gets Blue Ribands but you're getting an organic fair trade unrefined sugar seed bar honestly you don't know how lucky you are and what on earth has that cat got in its mouth now?"

It isn't the colour, or the form, I don't think, but a quality of pustulence. I reckon it's the biofilm that's so recognisably nasty-ass looking. I'm having to remember that this stuff has been daily raining down on me for years with no obvious ill effects.
"Ah yes," I hear you say, "but not in great quorum-sensing globs like that it hasn't, try rubbing that on your hair and see how your volume & shine is..."

Any road, I've got some pink stuff, and it's on the move....

really I care...

A series of messages left by an imaginary carer, and the person she cares for. The idea is that you don't always know which is which...

If any of these are your house, please don't think it is anything particularly to do with you, I'm hoping it speaks to a universal experience of domestic work and caring relationships.