A Bug Story

Scott and M are in NYC for a few days over March break. While I cannot say that I'm in any way put out by this - work is crazy and I am exceedingly happy for the peace and quiet (aka not arguing with a 16 year old incessantly) - I did have a totally stressful experience about an hour ago. It involved yoga. And a centipede.

I cannot even type that word without feeling sick.

There I was, blithely considering what online class would suit my rather scattered post-work mood, and this horrifying, hairy bug just sidled up beside me. It wasn't even freaked out. Alas, when I observed it, not an inch away from me, I did freak out - and proceeded to spill the contents of my (mercifully, almost gone) Immune Booster (juice) shot all over my keyboard. Somehow the spa lifestyle has eluded me today, despite the many trappings.

As fast as I jumped, it ran out the sewga room door. And then I was trapped.

BTW, this isn't the first time this has happened. It is, however, the first time it's happened when my people are in a foreign country. You can imagine my dismay.

At any rate, I spent a few minutes considering my options. Staying in the yoga room for another 48 hours wasn't one of them. If nothing else I had soup on the stove. So I grabbed a shoe, shored myself up and peered behind the door. The fucker was gone.

Honestly, I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. The idea of killing it was almost as sickening as the bug itself. I mean, to kill it, I'd have to get within a foot of it. Or a shoe, anyway. But not finding it meant I couldn't be rid of it. Everything started feeling like a bug was crawling on me. And, of course, I didn't know how I'd ever enter the sewga room again (despite the fact that the bug disappeared outside the room).

But then I did something unheard of. Truly. I decided to listen to the voices in my head - those of everyone who's ever tried to talk me off a ledge when I see a bug, those which told me that it was truly gone - as gone as a bug can be i.e. into the walls - and that I'm 2000 times its size and that it's more scared of me than I can ever be of it. And then I opted to take back the room.

God help me, I did yoga. Sure, I wore my glasses (which made me feel incredibly nauseous by the end because I spent the entire time compulsively staring at the door). And I didn't do savasana in the sewga room. I mean, I'm not insane. Yes, I ran out the door, at the end, stealthily looking behind me, prepared for the worst. And I actually feel more terrible now than before I started.

But dammit, I'm not stuck in a room for the next 2 days. That's a metaphor for you. Or something.

Urban Scourge

Where do I start. I'm going to make this brief because I've been up since, well, yesterday. If you ever think to yourself: I so wish I lived in a bohemian urban neighbourhood in a large city, let me disabuse you of the glamour.

These fuckwit morons, living across the street, (and I know this sounds incredibly prejudiced but I'm SURE they're renters) have been hosting parties (should we call them live-music concerts?) that start at exactly 2 am.

You read that right. I now go to bed at 9pm on Friday nights, in the event that I'll be woken on the nose of 2. Cuz you never know when it's going to happen.

I've got the police on fucking speed dial. Alas, last night they were too busy with actual emergencies to get here before daylight. The party was still happening at 5:30 am.

And the worst of it: They blare fucking House. OMG, I've hated House since I've had words to describe that droning, misery of a torture they try to call music.

You'll have to forgive me. I'm mentally screaming right now.

But wait, it gets better.

I decided, like the increasingly old-person that I am, to get my ass up and actually do some work. And by work I mean sewing. I mean, what's the point of lying in bed, freaking out about how I won't have any energy to craft tomorrow, when I can just get started.

All was well - I'm bizarrely focused at 3 am, apparently, after 5 hours of sleep that ends at 2 am - until the hugest fucking scary insane monster of a centipede came out of nowhere and started 30 minutes of active terror-warfare.

You should know that I am legitimately phobic about insects. I have been since early childhood. I've even had behaviour therapy to help me with the issue cuz, bugs, they tend to be everywhere and I find it hard to function knowing that. I can tell you about numerous experiences (some closer to now than I'd like to admit) where I was traumatized by discovering a particular insect. I check my sheets before I go to sleep and I live in freakin' Canada.  (Side bar: Parenting has done more to help me with this phobia than anything else because my urge to ensure that my kid doesn't feel afraid has insprired me to keep it together in the presence of crawlies. Over time, I've been able to model her calmness.)

Hilariously, my husband is all hippie about killing insects. And by hilarious, I mean WTF?!? We have this gizmo that traps them and then he releases them back into the garden. Great.

Anyway, last night, well, at 3:30 in the morning, as I was listening to a house-thumping litany of stupid dance music, I was also trapped in the sewing room with the biggest fucking prehistoric-seeming bug of all time. And I was trying to throw things at it so that I could either kill it, or just move it out of the sight-line of the door. Those things are particularly good at avoiding rulers and boots.

Eventually I trapped it by the ironing board and ran to get Scott (praying that it wouldn't scurry somewhere else in the meanwhile). To say that Scott (who could, himself, barely sleep through the music but is very live and let live - apparently) was not impressed at being compelled to deal with a centipede in the middle of the night, is a small understatement. To his credit, he didn't much argue. He knew it was pointless. Somehow, he managed to catch the lightening-fast bug in the re-release gizmo, on the first try (even he was amazed by this) and that story, she was done.

I have no energy right now to tell you about V1027. Do wish me luck.