bug
Good evening, livejournal. I never update. I'm sorry. But I wanna tell you a story. A true story.
I was sitting at my desk - just like I am right now!! - watching the Monster High Ghouls Rule special. Just as Frankie was protesting prejudice and being frightened of normies on Halloween, I saw something move out the corner of my eye. It was a cockroach. Not the biggest I've ever seen, but big enough. It was under my desk. THIS VERY DESK. "Stay calm," I told myself. "We've done this before." I've gotten better at bug-hunting lately. If I could just keep it where I could see it, I could squish it quickly. I have the reaction time of a turtle in a hippie's tour bus, but I could do it. I felt sorry for it. Frankie's speech about acceptance had gotten to me.
I made my first mistake when I looked away for just a second. It was gone. It had been facing behind the couch, so I pulled on the couch and removed a bunch of stuff between the couch and the desk so I could see better. No bug. I stepped back.
THERE IT WAS, next to my old computer tower under the desk (I use it as a foot rest these days). I grabbed the skittles holiday bank full of change and I squished it. But it escaped. Wounded, but it escaped. It went behind the desk. HOW DO I GET BEHIND THE DESK??? I asked myself. But I stepped back again. It was near the big living room torch lamp. Okay. There's no room for me to squeeze between the desk and the wall, but I could do this. Somehow it eluded me yet again. I ran and got bug spray and paper towels. We have a bug spray with a battery powered sprayer. I have A Thing about bug spray (apparently a common OCD thing?) but I made friends with my enemy for the time being - the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that. I found it. I sprayed it. AND IT RAN. It shot across the fireplace and behind the television. I saw it slink its way under the floor-length curtain. I moved the curtain. It was gone. I put down the paper towels on the tv stand and ran and got my mother's sneaker (her shoes are bigger than mine!)
It had the upper hand now - the tactical edge. Even though it was wounded, I had no idea where it was. But I was not going to be beaten. I had patiently waited and found it every time. I knew I couldn't just go sit down at my desk like nothing had happened. One of us had to win. I walked around the living room, looking under things, beginning to think panicky thoughts. I was starting to be terrified. It had the psychological edge now as well. The suspense was killing me. Any second now I would spot it and the battle would begin anew.
I picked up the paper towels and held them and the shoe in one hand while I wielded the spray in the other. I decided I needed to take proactive measures while it was missing, so I wanted to spray along the sliding glass door track next to the tv stand. But nerves were getting to me now. I had been calm at first. But now I was panicking. As I fumbled with the vertical blinds' cords, I sprayed myself in the face and hands.
I sprayed myself in the Goddamn face.
I was really beginning to panic now. Heart racing. Mind going a hundred miles an hour. "We can wash later. We can change later. It'll be okay. We can't give up now. It won't hurt us as long as we don't like, lick it or something. It'll be okay." I took myself in hand and staved off the panic attack and began spraying the track when the twist happened.
It came out of the paper towels and touched my arm.
THE PAPER TOWELS. MY OWN WEAPON. IT WAS IN MY HAND THE WHOLE TIME. It was there when I was spraying myself in the face! When and how it got in there, I will never know.
I screamed. I have been so good lately about not screaming at bugs. I have been so good. But it was so unexpected - IT JUST APPEARED IN MY HAND - that I let out two weird little shrieks through my nose (I never scream with my mouth open when I'm alone and I have no idea why I do this but I do). I lost my fool mind for a second there and jumped and jerked around, checking myself for the bug in case it was on my back or in my hair or something.
It flopped out of the paper towels and onto the floor in slow motion. And as it was falling, all my rational thoughts left my head. Panic and pity and terror were no longer anywhere inside of me. It was pure hatred now. It had gone too far. I wanted revenge. I was a thoughtless, angry machine. I suddenly had the reaction time of the world's fiercest predator. I was lightning. I lunged at my prey in a split second and I squished the shit out of it with the shoe with an almighty thwack against the tiles that line the door. It moved and I squished it again. It was over. I won.
The door to my mother's room opened and she came out and I told her that there had been a bug. She asked where it was and I told her it was under the shoe. She asked for a broom so she could sweep its guts outside. But when she moved the shoe IT RAN OUTSIDE. IT WAS STILL ALIVE. I HAD HIT THAT LITTLE BASTARD 3 TIMES AND SPRAYED IT WITH POISON AND IT WAS STILL ALIVE. But she swept it out the screen door.
She and I cleaned up for a second (the living room did look a bit like the battleground it was) and she went back to bed. I ripped off my clothes and scrubbed myself in the sink. And now here I am, telling you my tales of battle.
I survived, but I'll never be the same.
THE END?
I was sitting at my desk - just like I am right now!! - watching the Monster High Ghouls Rule special. Just as Frankie was protesting prejudice and being frightened of normies on Halloween, I saw something move out the corner of my eye. It was a cockroach. Not the biggest I've ever seen, but big enough. It was under my desk. THIS VERY DESK. "Stay calm," I told myself. "We've done this before." I've gotten better at bug-hunting lately. If I could just keep it where I could see it, I could squish it quickly. I have the reaction time of a turtle in a hippie's tour bus, but I could do it. I felt sorry for it. Frankie's speech about acceptance had gotten to me.
I made my first mistake when I looked away for just a second. It was gone. It had been facing behind the couch, so I pulled on the couch and removed a bunch of stuff between the couch and the desk so I could see better. No bug. I stepped back.
THERE IT WAS, next to my old computer tower under the desk (I use it as a foot rest these days). I grabbed the skittles holiday bank full of change and I squished it. But it escaped. Wounded, but it escaped. It went behind the desk. HOW DO I GET BEHIND THE DESK??? I asked myself. But I stepped back again. It was near the big living room torch lamp. Okay. There's no room for me to squeeze between the desk and the wall, but I could do this. Somehow it eluded me yet again. I ran and got bug spray and paper towels. We have a bug spray with a battery powered sprayer. I have A Thing about bug spray (apparently a common OCD thing?) but I made friends with my enemy for the time being - the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that. I found it. I sprayed it. AND IT RAN. It shot across the fireplace and behind the television. I saw it slink its way under the floor-length curtain. I moved the curtain. It was gone. I put down the paper towels on the tv stand and ran and got my mother's sneaker (her shoes are bigger than mine!)
It had the upper hand now - the tactical edge. Even though it was wounded, I had no idea where it was. But I was not going to be beaten. I had patiently waited and found it every time. I knew I couldn't just go sit down at my desk like nothing had happened. One of us had to win. I walked around the living room, looking under things, beginning to think panicky thoughts. I was starting to be terrified. It had the psychological edge now as well. The suspense was killing me. Any second now I would spot it and the battle would begin anew.
I picked up the paper towels and held them and the shoe in one hand while I wielded the spray in the other. I decided I needed to take proactive measures while it was missing, so I wanted to spray along the sliding glass door track next to the tv stand. But nerves were getting to me now. I had been calm at first. But now I was panicking. As I fumbled with the vertical blinds' cords, I sprayed myself in the face and hands.
I sprayed myself in the Goddamn face.
I was really beginning to panic now. Heart racing. Mind going a hundred miles an hour. "We can wash later. We can change later. It'll be okay. We can't give up now. It won't hurt us as long as we don't like, lick it or something. It'll be okay." I took myself in hand and staved off the panic attack and began spraying the track when the twist happened.
It came out of the paper towels and touched my arm.
THE PAPER TOWELS. MY OWN WEAPON. IT WAS IN MY HAND THE WHOLE TIME. It was there when I was spraying myself in the face! When and how it got in there, I will never know.
I screamed. I have been so good lately about not screaming at bugs. I have been so good. But it was so unexpected - IT JUST APPEARED IN MY HAND - that I let out two weird little shrieks through my nose (I never scream with my mouth open when I'm alone and I have no idea why I do this but I do). I lost my fool mind for a second there and jumped and jerked around, checking myself for the bug in case it was on my back or in my hair or something.
It flopped out of the paper towels and onto the floor in slow motion. And as it was falling, all my rational thoughts left my head. Panic and pity and terror were no longer anywhere inside of me. It was pure hatred now. It had gone too far. I wanted revenge. I was a thoughtless, angry machine. I suddenly had the reaction time of the world's fiercest predator. I was lightning. I lunged at my prey in a split second and I squished the shit out of it with the shoe with an almighty thwack against the tiles that line the door. It moved and I squished it again. It was over. I won.
The door to my mother's room opened and she came out and I told her that there had been a bug. She asked where it was and I told her it was under the shoe. She asked for a broom so she could sweep its guts outside. But when she moved the shoe IT RAN OUTSIDE. IT WAS STILL ALIVE. I HAD HIT THAT LITTLE BASTARD 3 TIMES AND SPRAYED IT WITH POISON AND IT WAS STILL ALIVE. But she swept it out the screen door.
She and I cleaned up for a second (the living room did look a bit like the battleground it was) and she went back to bed. I ripped off my clothes and scrubbed myself in the sink. And now here I am, telling you my tales of battle.
I survived, but I'll never be the same.
THE END?