It’s been more than 30 days since the thermal treatment, and the one thing I saw on the 26th that I wasn’t sure about turned out not to be a bite, so this makes more than 30 days without a bite, too, and that puts me right in the middle of the “when you can be sure” zone of 14-60 days.

Pest control will continue to spray for a few months, because they don’t want to take chances.  The lady down the hall who was kicked out has moved out, and I’m pretty sure they’ll thermal-treat her place again now that she’s out of it.  The girl diagonally across from me hasn’t had anything since the thermal treatment.  My friend down the hall still has a handful of live ones, and she’s trying to get thermal-treated again to finish them off–it’s been 6 solid months of hell for her.

On May 1, I finally slept in my new bed, and I love it.  I did my spring cleaning.  I switched out my winter and spring/summer clothes, putting all my winter stuff through the dryer again, as a precaution, and putting it all in giant ziploc bags inside their plastic tubs, because I ain’t playin’.

The change of season probably has something to do with it (symbolically and otherwise), but all of me feels like this is over, and I can breathe easy now.  WHICH HAD BETTER NOT BE FUCKING JINXING IT BECAUSE SO HELP ME FUCK IF I GET A BITE AFTER THIS…

*inhale*

*exhale*

My mindset hasn’t been debugged, yet.  I still have some anxiety about public spaces: I worry that every bus seat, every restaurant chair, every doctor’s waiting room chair, every plane seat I occupy has a bug hiding in it that will hitch a ride home with me and start this mess all over again.  I wonder how long that will take to go away…  And I wonder how long it will take me to stop checking every inch of my body for bites after I shower.

I’ll still take precautions when it comes to what goes in and out of my place:  I’ll spray my shoes with rubbing alcohol when I get home; instead of using my chair as a repository for clothes I’ve worn once or twice but that aren’t really dirty enough for the laundry, I’ll put them in a giant ziploc hanging on my closet door, as I’ve done these past 4 months;  I’ll wash my bedding more frequently than I used to;  I’ll occasionally hose down my furniture with rubbing alcohol.

But it feels good to finally relax into the words “It’s OVER,” and set my sights on getting on with my life.

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