The Ant Invasion & Washing Machines Revenge
Last night’s sleep was finally restful, and I woke at 6 a.m. without an alarm. For the first time in over a week, I opened my eyes and felt more like myself—no pain drowning out my senses, no exhaustion dragging me back under. I still felt the familiar twinge of heaviness in my joints, the lingering remnants of inflammation that had been coursing through me. The lupus flare wasn’t gone, not yet, but it had shifted—from all-consuming to something I could brush aside, a mild irritation instead of a full takeover.
As I reclined in my chair, a warm sense of happiness came over me as I remembered: I get to work from home today—with my puppies. Right on cue, Odin popped his head up and did his classic “half jump.” Instead of fully climbing on, he draped his torso across me—long legs dangling over the recliner, belly across my lap, staring right into my eyes. Commitment? Too much effort. Comfort? Always.
I pitter-pattered through the morning, enjoying every minute of the slow start. Two cups of coffee brewed, dogs walked, and even my washing machine procrastination ended as I finally hooked it up to the kitchen sink so that I could do a test run later today. Feeling accomplished I decided to enjoy the morning a bit.
I stepped outside to soak in the fresh air and watched the breeze ripple lazily through the trees. The day was stretching itself awake, gently nudging the night away. Soft colors played across the sky as the moon slipped back and the first rays of sun began to warm my cheeks. That’s when I saw them: a single-file line of ants marching toward my RV like a tiny army on a mission of great importance. Perfect synchrony. Absolute determination. The kind of seriousness I can only muster after my first cup of coffee.
And really, I had to respect it—because somewhere behind the scenes, their queen was ensuring that synchrony. She runs a tight ship, demands unison, and clearly has no patience for slackers. Honestly? Feminist icon energy. I almost admired them—until I realized their destination was the RV.
I shook off the thought and headed in for a shower. But fate has a wicked sense of humor—because there they were again. Ants. In my bathtub. Their “mission” suddenly revealed itself: invade my peace.
So there I was, mid- shampoo rinse, squirting ants down the drain. Multi-tasking at its strangest. Once out, I knew it was time for a counterattack. I may be all about “live and let live,” but creepy crawlers in my shower? Absolutely not. I barely tolerate sharing my lukewarm water with myself, let alone with an ant battalion.
Armed with my peppermint essential oil spray, I marched outside and circled the RV, misting the perimeter like a sage-cleansing ritual with a holiday twist. Sure, harsher sprays are cheaper and last longer, but I can’t stomach the collateral damage. Peppermint it is—it smells like Christmas and, with luck, shouts eviction notice in ant-speak.
Inside, I sprayed along the baseboards and set a few discreet traps well out of dog reach. Between the essential oils and my not-so-eco-friendly backup plan, I’m hopeful the ants will pack their bags. Because one thing is certain: this girl is not sharing space with crawling roommates—no matter how impressive their queen may be at running a tight ship.
Once I was settled in for the day, ready to face work and emails, I glided through the morning—providing consult, support, and purpose. At one point, I decided to take a break and give the washing machine a chance. I hit start, sank back into my chair, and asked Google to play Billie Eilish. Something about her haunted voice steadies me through the chaos of inboxes, spreadsheets, and the endless tangle of “thought work.”
But calm didn’t last. Out of nowhere came a violent splashing sound. The dogs bolted from their beds, wide-eyed and on full alert, clearly convinced a demon had entered the RV. I turned just in time to see the washing machine hose thrashing like a firehose gone rogue, spraying water across my tiny 250-square-foot kingdom.
It looked straight out of a cartoon—the washer alive and furious. It will be a slave to no one, least of all my dirty laundry.
I scrambled up, shoved the hose back into the sink, and smacked the machine off. By then, water had already spread across the floor, seeped under furniture, and trickled into the slide-outs. The universe, in its not-so-subtle way, had decided that since I skipped mopping yesterday, today my floors would be scrubbed—whether I liked it or not.
It took five towels and a full roll of paper towels to tame the flood. My nerves? Shaky. My dogs? Suspicious. My floors? Shiny clean. So… small win?
My dryer vent doesn’t get installed until tomorrow, but my Canadian friend—my RV guardian angel—assured me I could run the dryer without it as long as I kept it pulled away from the wall. I’m trusting his advice and crossing my fingers I don’t set my house-on-wheels on fire just trying to dry some clothes.
One thing I’ve learned already: the washer holds way more than the dryer. Once I get caught up, I’ll have to run a load every day. I can hear the laughter already: Who, you? Not procrastinate? I know, I know. But I’m going to try.
On the bright side, the ant invasion seems to have dwindled. Either they’ve moved on to easier pickings, or they’re regrouping in some underground war room with the queen at the head of the table—regal, all-knowing, commanding her generals to plot my downfall. Either way, I’ll take the reprieve.
With the workday finally over, I settled in with my pups. They were unimpressed by how little attention they’d gotten, despite me being home all day. To redeem myself, I face-planted into Odin’s belly, making ridiculous “num num” noises as if I were eating his stomach. He wiggled and squirmed in pure joy, grinning from ear to ear. Naturally, Freya came barreling in, rolling onto her back as if to say, Me too, Mommy, me too!
I could only imagine what an onlooker would think watching this scene. Honestly, I was judging myself. “Why am I like this?” I thought. But then I looked down at their gleeful faces, the body wiggles, and the wagging tails, and decided: if being silly makes them this happy, then silly I shall be.
Later, I attempted another load of laundry—this time tying the water hose down like a toddler in time-out. Small victories. Then it was vacuuming, dishes, and the usual reset before hopping online with my gaming family. No games tonight—just slow, steady conversation drifting from ants to bees and back again. We marveled at how incredible it is that these tiny creatures instinctively build architectural masterpieces, all guided by their queens. Of course, I couldn’t resist throwing in a feminist jab here and there—how fitting that in nature, the queens run the show. The boys ignored me completely, but I giggled to myself all the same.
Eventually, I said my early goodnights, curled up with the pups, and let the glow of the TV carry me into sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll have to wake early and clear the back bedroom so the RV tech can finally install the dryer vent.
Lessons of the Day
Sleep is medicine, coffee is motivation, and together they’re a superpower.
Ants march in synchrony because their queen tolerates no slackers—boss lady energy.
Ants in the bathtub are proof the universe has a twisted sense of humor.
Essential oils are basically potions—mine say “smell good, but get out.”
Washing machines don’t whisper—they scream rebellion in water jets.
When life floods your RV, at least you’ll have the cleanest floors on the block.
Sometimes the best safety manual is just a Canadian saying, “You’ll be fine.”
Procrastination and I are in a committed relationship—laundry is just the side quest.
Dogs don’t judge—they just wiggle harder when you act like a fool.
Never underestimate a queen—she can build, lead, and, if needed, overthrow.
