As most of you know, or at least those of you who've been reading this blog for more than a minute know, I am a newly single woman living 'on my own' in the bottom floor of a lovely old 1920's era mansion in a so-called trendy part of this backward little city I live in. What you may not know is that while I consider myself living on my own, I am not actually alone alone. I have roommates. This old house sports a lovely finished basement and the roommates are lodged there, in what I now not so lovingly call 'the hole'. The reason I'm writing about my roommates is that they hate what I do -- the 'smells' I make, the incense I burn, the aromatics I'm always sashaying about the house with -- absolutely hate it. They try to cover their disdain, but sometimes when they think I'm not here they'll come up from the hole and upon opening the door will say, "God! She's burning something again!" or "Can't she ever make something that smells normal?" I would also like to note that I am nearly 100% in control of the main floor -- it's my own -- except for the kitchen and bathroom, obviously, which I share. In fact, while they are burrowed in the hole, I could potentially be murdered and chopped into 1000 tiny pieces and strewn from one end of the main floor to the other end and they wouldn't notice until one of them slipped on a piece of flesh in the foyer on their way out the door for a Starbucks, and even then they might just wipe me off the bottom of their shoe and toodle on down the road to finish their business. That's how alone I am. Which is good. I'm not complaining. I am, however, not keen on the snarky remarks about the smells emanating from MY part of the house. I mean, I have rarely said a word about the smell coming up from the basement -- the smell of sweaty pits and pee-pee diapers (they have two babies in diapers). Or the overflowing bathroom garbage, also full of pee-pee diapers and other things I cannot mention here because they would make you blush with embarrassment -- things most normal people would wrap up and toss in a less public receptacle are on display like prized art, and it all smells gawdawful.
Why am I sharing this information? Because I'm a shit. I'm a shit who's had enough and will burn and tinder and waft and distill until this house smells like a perfume factory; to my heart's content I will do this because for me, beautiful smelling things are normal, all that other stuff, no matter how necessary an evil they are, is disgusting and shows a level of complacent laziness and blatant disrespect that is unacceptable, and not normal. Now I'm off to leave a message on the refrigerator white board about that bathroom trash --- again.