So for those of y’all who aren’t accustomed to any kind of profanity or foul language, I confess this post has two or three words of such. I almost never use such words and even more rarely don’t write them, as using them is a dishonor and a discredit to who I am as a man and to what my craft is. Even at the beginning level that I consider my craft to be, such things are below it. I do promise you won’t see such things again for at least the next year, maybe more. In the meantime though, their inclusion in this post is done in a way that I feel actually enhances the clarity of the emotions presented, and thus, I have left them in. Thanks for your patience.
How I Feel About Spiders.
Nothing makes me flat out angry like a spider. Plenty disappoints me, that’s how I’d describe my feelings towards things like racial relations and the whole same sex marriage debate and political issues and what not.
But nothing flat out pisses me off like finding a friggin spider in mine or a friend’s place. Nothing else makes me strategically withdraw quicker only to come back with a damn 105 howitzer and attack mercilessly. Screw “flight,” spiders piss me off to the point that I just go full on FIGHT. I’ve got a metal spatula and a can of Whoop Ass I keep under the kitchen sink for when I find one, and I’m damn liberal with both.
Today was B.S. I was sitting on my couch (which I may or may not have anymore in the next hour) and had a novel a professor had lent me on the top edge of it as I read another book. Well this little twerp decides to come around the corner along the pages.
Oh that pissed me off. You can’t come into my house, kick my dog, and walk all over a book a mentor gave me. OOOOOO!
I knocked the book down, hit it one more time from the other side so he came off and tried to run across the carpet, and then may or may not have cumulatively unloaded about 5 ouches of the aforementioned liquid on him through the three sprays it took to get him to be still for good. Then, after watching him for about five minutes, I stepped on him. Now, it’s time to vacuum.
Son of a gun man. Okay, rant over. Now I’m just going to have to deal with the fact that for the next 24 hours I’ll think a spider is crawling on me whenever an air current grazes my arms, legs or the back of my neck.
Do I have arachnophobia? Well, that’s pretty apparent by now, but I’d guess that between 70 and 80 percent of Americans do, so I’m not ashamed.