All ticks must die

So while staying at my inlaws’ place for a week, I’ve discovered that I am not a country person.

After waking up with ticks sucking on my forehead a few times, I limited my venturing outdoors to a minimum. Cutie was forced to limit his outdoor activities after contracting rickettsia from a tick bite. He had to take some strong antibiotics as a precaution (if left untreated, it can cause Rocky Mountain Fever). Since we are in process of moving to Canada, we don’t want to risk having our visas rejected due to a health scare.

At this point I just feel like setting my in-law’s lawn on fire since they have no plans to help curve the tick population on their property (I guess the threat of lyme disease is not a real one). Everytime I am about to leave the house, I spray OFF Deep Woods spray on my shoes. Before I re-enter, I check my shoes and legs for ticks.


I’ve already endured 3 weeks worth of mosquito and fly bites for the sake of academia. Those bites left scars on my arms and legs. At this point I do not mind finding a place to live in suburbia or in the city.

Crap… time to check my pant legs again.



So..after the return from my 4 week stint in Greece, Cutie and I packed our belongings and started our trek to move to a new place.

More like a new place in a new country.

A country named Canada.


At first, it sounds so exiting (perhaps because it does sound like an adventure), but after working the logistics of the visas, packing, etc, I started to dread it.

Never mind that moving is a pain in the rear end or that I have to drive 16 hours to a land where my small car can be totaled by an angry moose. Or that I have to count for every piece of belonging Cutie and I have so that the border patrol and customs do not think we are trying to smuggle anything into their frozen country. Nope, none of those things are affecting me as much as one thing.

It’s that I don’t have a place to call home and it’s getting to me.As in it’s REALLY getting to me, not knowing where I am going to sleep next or when I am going to eat.

My anxiety is under control some what as long as I am staying at a home-like environment (I am staying at my in-law’s place for a few days). But I am tired of traveling, tired of living like a nomad out of a suitcase. I want a place to call home.

So I am wandering, cursing at those awful Canadian Craigslist ads that show very little for a lot of money in rent.

I loved my old place and I hope to return to it someday.

Maybe that is just wishful thinking.