Time, flies

Now that the house is freezing, I'm finally free of fruit flies. All summer the kitchen and dining room were plagued with them; every time I put a piece of food down it would be swarming with tiny winged specks within seconds. Opening the food waste bin released a cloud of them. I sealed everything in tupperwares, in bags, under lids and cloths and tinfoil and cling film, and nothing succeeded in keeping them out. Too tiny for visible flight, they merely scattered themselves from nowhere to everywhere, sown like the seeds of failure.

Part of the reason the house is freezing is that I have to leave the windows open a crack otherwise everything goes mouldy. Clothes at the bottom of drawers smell mildewy; I daren't look behind furniture that's close to outside walls. The bathroom was stained black with mould until the walls were stripped back and repainted with mould-free paint; how many more unrotten days has that bought me? The hours are breathing hotly on the glass, the walls are silently weeping.

If I could successfully keep out the flies and the mould, what other decay would creep in? What other things would seep through the cracks and pile up in damp and crawling heaps to remind me that entropy always wins?