Spider Incident Mark I--aka Phobic Insights

Well, it was the first spider mishap of the year. A surprise, as it's January. I was working at my desk and saw its little legs slither all over my nightstand. After that electric shock to the pit of my stomach and the physical recoil, I assess the damage. Now that I'm an "adult" and all, I can handle these kinds of things, I push out the thoughts that this is an omen and run to get the Raid. As I'm poised to assassinate this grotesque, malicious intruder, I pause to notice it's too close to my iHome, my iPod, my DS, and my chapstick to use the spray. I think quickly, sifting through my options. I could spray it anyway, possibly damaging my electronics and leave the carcass for Chris to pick up (a nice birthday surprise for him). I could try to squish it...a major mental obstacle. I only kill little ones. With far too many paper towels. And I'm proud of myself for that. Big step.

I grab Chris's old Sunday shoe, 3 large paper towels and edge in closer (I know, I know; but I can't use my shoe just in case guts are involved). Drat. It's disappeared. A far worse scenario, as I will be unable to sleep here without seeing a body. I pause again. Standing there with the shoe, the paper towels, and my eyes darting in all directions. It's like an escaped fugitive--there's a certain radius it's certain to be in, but only for a set amount of time. I have to think fast. Like Tommy Lee Jones. I kick the bottom of the nightstand, hoping it will surrender and move into a more opportune spot to be murdered.

And after another shock to the bottom of my stomach, I see its little speckled body, right under my chapstick. Speckled. Squishing it is certainly out. I back up to a distance where I can still see where it moves, but so that my eyes can't focus on clear details. Wouldn't want nightmares or anything.

I look at the time and see that there's ten minutes left until Christian gets home. He can easily dispose of it. But it could be gone in ten minutes, and then I'll be in that worse scenario again. So I make the decision. Aloud I say, "Screw it," and think to myself, "I wouldn't want that chapstick anyway now that it's nasty, diseased legs have touched it." I give it a little spray (not my usual over-dousing), avoiding the iHome as best I can, and look away. I can't watch the writhing. That stays with me too vividly.

So Chris eventually gets home and finds the carcass curled up under the iHome in a pool of the poison. I stand on the office chair to make sure there really is a body (I've been lied to before from various people who were just trying to put my mind at ease). Chris throws it away, and while I'm still standing on the chair, I say, "Well, since I'm already up here, you might as well spin me." He does, laughter ensues, and life goes on. The only casualty being my chapstick. Worth the two dollars for vengeance.

This is definitely not the most peculiar spider incident, but the timing is what bothers me. Whenever I've had a hard day or made a big decision I'm unsure about, it's hard not to interpret the big spider coincidences that happen to me so frequently as more than they are. I know, they're everywhere and sneak up on everyone. But oh, the stories I could tell of the impossible happening.

And disclaimer: I don't want any raised eye brows and thoughts of, "Wow, that there is real crazy." I'm cool. I'm fine. I've been doing this since I was six. It's gotten better. When someone is around to kill them, they're not discovered on my person, and they're not African-Man-Eating-Sized, it's not a big deal at all.