Do you remember all that time and effort I spent last year turning my dirty, cluttered, long-neglected basement into a welcoming and party-friendly rumpus room? Well, I'm glad I enjoyed it while it lasted, because I may never go into my basement again.
This might be a problem, given that my basement is where several very useful things are stored, including my washer and dryer and much of my camping gear, not to mention several key articles of clothing that I have not yet retrieved from my drying racks since the last time I did laundry. These are all problems I will have to work around, however, because a giant bug has taken up residence down there, and I'm pretty sure I would rather just let him have the place than take him on without backup.
Seriously, people, this is no ordinary bug. I cannot squash this bug with my foot, because he may actually be larger than my foot. I've decided to name him Samsa. As in Gregor. Maybe if I'm lucky, he will, like his namesake, recognize the burden he's placed on me and starve himself, and I can have my laundry room back again. Here's hoping.
It's possible, of course, that I'm overreacting, but given that my day started by realizing I was sharing my shower with a spider, it only stands to reason that the added trauma of the enormous bug in my basement the very same day would leave me a bit ill at ease. A spider in the shower, by the way, is horrifying enough when you're wet and naked, but it makes me feel even more vulnerable given that I am essentially blind without my glasses, and since I don’t generally shower in my glasses, I nearly didn't even see the spider spying on me. Shudder.
In a strange way, it is almost (ALMOST) comforting to see other living things in my home. I am lucky enough to have had very few problems with pests indoors; I have lived in that house for over five years and have not once seen a... a... I'm sorry; I can't even type it for fear of jinxing myself and finding one of those small critters that starts with "m" and rhymes with "blouse," so let's just move on, shall we? But since my suspicious nature sometimes makes me take a good thing and twist it into something absurd, I have occasionally wondered if there is some reason my house has so few pests. It's certainly not my fastidious housekeeping, so it must be something in the air. Among the many ridiculous theories my overactive imagination has spun, this canary-in-the-coal-mine correlation between the lack of bugs in my house and the belief that my house might be slowing killing me surely ranks near the top. I may have actually written about this once already, though. Yep. I did. No sense bringing it up yet again.
So I'm trying to put both Samsa and the spider and whatever other unknown stowaways I may be harboring out of my mind by thinking of happier, more positive things. You know, like puppies and rainbows and unicorns, and more importantly, the three-day weekend ahead. A weekend that I will spend largely at home... a home that may either be infested with pests or slowly killing me. This positive thoughts thing isn't exactly working as planned, is it? Tell me, what's terrifying you lately?