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It's the smell

It's the smell, if there is such a thing. I feel saturated by it. I can taste your stink and every time I do, I fear that I've somehow been infected by it.

Agent Smith monologue’d that over a decade ago. Interesting words, those.

We think something, like a rodent, died under out house or in our wall. The smell has slowly increased to the point that we can’t sleep in our room. Fortunately we a fold out couch-bed, so we could have guests over. That is our temporary respite.

Seeing this as an opportunity to fold over our futon, I did so only to find that there were these white spots on the bottom, in the middle of a very large wet spot. Turns out condensation had worked on the futon, and when I took off the cover, it was apparent how much mold and mildew had collected. Bummer.

So now we are sleeping in our living room (one half of our cottage), because it smells like death and we don’t have a place to sleep in there.

I see a wonderful opportunity here. And probably a few trips to Ikea.

やりやり。