Tag Archives: shock

Snap, Crackle and Pop

22 Jan

I am being terrorized by my own apartment.

Every single move I make generates some sort of electric activity. 

At first I thought it was a recipe for a good time.  I ran around the house in my little sweater booties trying to generate as much bad mojo as possible and then go after Dave like a heat seeking missile.  I was powerful.  I was magical.   I was a real life Palpatine, shooting arcs of lightning from my fingers and devastating others with the blow.

Okay, so if I back off the hyperbole, I was really just annoying Dave and putting my cats in a very, very bad mood.

But after all the impish fun wore off and everyone ignored me, it was just me and my newfound powers.  Alone.  All the time.   And you know what?  I’m really, really tired of it.   I want to be able to turn lights on and off again.  I want to be able to touch metallic surfaces.  I want to stop recoiling in fear every time Dave approaches me.

Last night I attempted to turn off my bedroom light only to be greeted with a massive lightning arc from Zeus himself which shot from the switch to my finger and up my entire right arm.  The snapping sound was so loud that Dave heard it in the kitchen. 

…There are two rooms between the kitchen and my bedroom.

The worst is when I take all that bad carpet rubbing mojo to the sink.  Sometimes I turn on the water to the unnerving sensation of a wave of electricity rippling ever so slightly through my forearm.

It’s the radiators.  I know it’s them.  I can hear them spitting and hissing their terrible dryness into the air.  My apartment sounds like it belongs to the Mad Hatter, with full pots of tea at a high whistle at all hours of the day and night. 

I tried the humidifier thing for a while, convinced it was the answer to all my troubles.   I filled it up every single night and put it beside my bed in hopes that one day I would wake and my tongue wouldn’t be an arid, cracked desert of misery.  But all it did was add a bubbling noise to my bedroom teapot choir and confuse my cats.   I spent most of my time before falling asleep trying to explain to them that steam isn’t actually tangible.

I don’t know what else to do.  I thought that perhaps my humidifier was subpar so I faced my fear of stupid people one weekend and trekked to a department store only to be greeted by a variety of strange devices that don’t look well-equipped for the job.   Since when do people want vaporizers and humidifiers that look like zoo animals? I can’t trust an elephant that shoots steam out of its trunk to understand my problems.  I just can’t.

I need to find a solution.  I’m going through skin cream like I own stock in it and waking up ten minutes earlier each morning just to allow enough time to reintroduce saliva to my system.  Separating my sheet from my comforter when making my bed is the absolute worst part of my day. I’ve abandoned my sweater boots for bare feet in an attempt to minimize my confrontations with Zeus and I’m experimenting with flicking light switches with different body parts until I find the one that has the least pain associated with the zap.  I can probably publish my findings in an attempt to aid other dry-dwellers across the land.

Whatever the solution, I need to find it quickly.  Because I’m almost considering going outside to ease the anxiety. 

And that means it’s serious. 

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