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.
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.