October 30, 2003

     The spiders have been visiting me.  Big spiders, crawling around my house, scaring the shiznit out of me.  I try to be understanding, and concentrate on the positive message that they are sending me, encouraging me to write.  (Two people will get that reference).  But somehow, I just can't sit back and let them creep all around my house. 

    Last weekend, I was chased out of the downstairs bathroom by a gigantic, ugly, fast moving house spider.  It was a traumatic experience, really.  There I was, sitting on the commode, and I go to grab some tp, and as I'm spinning the roll, this spider comes flying at me, lands at my feet, and scurries under the magazine basket.  The creature was living on the toilet paper!  I avoided that room for days, and when I finally returned, I established an obsessive-compulsive routine of spinning the toilet paper and checking under the toilet seat before sitting down. 

    Tuesday night, while watching the last bit of a James Bond flick with Shorn, and chatting on the phone with Rita, I spied that evil spider.  He had migrated  into the living room, but I knew it was him.  I stared at him for quite a while, up on the ceiling above the back door.  I would have attempted to kill him then, but he was in a strategic position--very tough to get to.  Intentional, no doubt. 

    Today I captured the bastard in a 16oz mixing cup (one person will get that reference) and made Shorn flush him down the toilet.  Full circle, you see.  From the bathroom he came, and to the bathroom he was returned.

    For all I know, that spider was my muse, and I have officially flushed my muse down the crapper. 

    Oh well!