Happy holidays, folks. Disregard my hiatus, if you will. Let's just pretend like I never left. I trust you had a pleasant Thanksgiving and that you're waist sizes have increased accordingly. I tend to cheer up around the holidays. I like the lights and the cheesy music in the elevators. So sue me. However, I'm profoundly aware a large percentage of this country get the blues when the old Yule log gets rolled out. My mother had a bit of the Irish melancholy from about November 15 to January 3. I saw her weep through more than one Christmas meal, but she figured out a way to get beyond her sadness. It involved the help of a psychiatrist, and a little something else - something explored in an article I read recently.
It popped up on Ezine the other day. It wasn't you're typical "keep a clean kitchen" and "seal the cracks" sort of tip sheet on pest control (which is strangely why I found it in the first place). It was emotional, and it had heart. Dare I say it moved me?
It was about a guy who'd essentially lost everything, and found himself where many of us find themselves in our twenties: in a pit of despair. He'd lost his job, his girlfriend was out, and his parents were ashamed of him. It was just him, a slob on his bed feeling sorry for himself. But he decided to turn things around. He began his own self-improvement journey with what he saw as the embodiment of his problems: cockroaches, spiders, and other various creepy crawlies. The article was called
How Pest Control Changed My Life, and it was pretty uplifting.
Now I know the correlation between this article and
rat control is limited, but rats are pest aren't they? And who doesn't need a little self-help success story from time to time. Check it out.
