It’s like Groundhog Day in here, but with spiders.

I swear to god, at least once a night, every night, I am sitting in bed. Then I look over at the door to my bedroom, and a spider just skitters on into my room on the carpet like he’s the bitch paying rent here, and every time, I’m like “no bitch, get out”.

I sit up, and it stops dead. It sees me seeing it seeing me.

We stare at each other for a minute or two as I have the dual task of keeping an eye on the creepy bastard so it doesn’t crawl into my stack of comic books or into my purse or my discarded socks why do I have so many things on the floor what the hell —

At the same time, I am trying to find a weapon. Something broad and flat and able to produce adequate downward force for squishing. Hairspray can? No, the bottom is concave. A glass? I might shatter it in my reflexive spider killing rage. What about this coke bottle? What about this plate full of toast crumbs? Don’t be stupid that’ll make a mess you idiot, clean your room.

Then I pick up a large sketchbook, walk over to the spider, lean over it like I am peering over the Grand Canyon, and drop the book. Splat.

It did not escape, for I saw no scuttling with my own two eyes.

That did not stop me from jumping on the book several times.

Then I put the book away and sat down again, staring at the corpse I left behind. I pick it up with a tissue (double folded) and stare at its crazy stupid legs.

I tilt it a bit too far and it falls off the tissue and I jump up so damn fast I don’t even remember getting across the room.

Then I feel like a baby and I throw it away

and write about it on tumblr. 

  1. misszilla reblogged this from tinyredbird and added:
    I don’t need clothes I have anger. Righteous, spider killing anger.
  2. tinyredbird reblogged this from misszilla and added:
    I was only thinking about your best interests. Bikinis won’t protect your warrior skin from fatal spider wounds, m’lady...