The purging of crazy ass piles of shit continues at my house of crazy. In today’s episode, I removed a bunch of junk from my bathroom to make way for tomorrow’s wrecking ball.

(I also took some pictures of my delapidated bathroom, because I love me some before and after photos. Among my web list of things to do is an electronic version of the scrap book I made for my mom with the befores and afters of her fire-gutted house and its rebuilding. The book, complete with sarcastic comments and witty observations about the fam was a big hit at Pat’s wake, which is both sad and a propos. She would have been laughing at it too, I think, with a crowd that sized egging her on.)

Anyway, the point of this post is that in clearing the bathroom I found ant spray and ant traps. I don’t recall having an ant problem worthy of that firepower.

However, I do watch a lot (really A LOT) of forensic TV shows. I learned that some ant traps contain warfarin, a blood thinner.

My conclusion, in the absence of an ant outbreak recollection, is that clearly I was planning to kill someone (an ex-boyfriend perhaps) by diabolically thinning his blood and then shanking him with a butter knife. The knife would be dull, but the bleeding would be endless. Of course, the trauma of this as far as I know failed murder attempt caused a blackout, which is why I have the poison, but don’t know why.

Either that or a lot of ants aren’t that memorable over a 10-year period of living somewhere.