All aboard my train, but depart at different stations
So the part of today where I discovered clothes moths in my beloved winter scarf right before I was supposed to leave the house to catch a bus was garbage and the part where I had to frantically bag and/or trash items of clothing and then rummage paranoiacally through other shelves and drawers instead of catching my bus was also garbage, but the part where I was only ten minutes late to William Wellman's Other Men's Women (1931) felt like a significant victory even if I couldn't sit with
rushthatspeaks because the ticket-taker planted me at the very outer edge of the row so as not to disturb any other patrons and the movie itself was extremely enjoyable (early James Cagney, early Joan Blondell, Mary Astor being cute, Grant Withers being cute, pre-Code knows that a husband who is first pathologically jealous and then suicidally self-sacrificial is behaving like an idiot both times and that the other two points of the triangle are going to need some recovery time before romance is back on the table, totally diegetic music, lots of well-photographed trains) and the part where we went for dinner afterward at Cilantro was great, although I might just being saying that because of the endorphin high of the cumin lamb. We walked home by way of Gracie's. I got to give Fox their new sweatshirt in person. (It has a fox on it.) I think that brings the day out to a cautious positive, but I am still going to feel twitchy until I have done a lot more laundry.

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Ew and also ICK and many sympathies. We spent a couple weeks this fall dealing with grain moths in the kitchen.
I've taken to buying the (comparatively cheap) cedar balls that you can get by the bagfull and scatter in whatever closet or container holds your gear.
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I am trying to take cautious hope from the fact that we do not own many items of wool clothing, but first I have to survive what appears to be an unending cycle of laundry and loss.