"Someone save me if you will and take away all these pills and please just save me if you can from my blasphemy in my wasteland"

A clip in the movie of my life.

Me, running into my room, half my hair wet, the other still dry. In a towel.

I grab the bug spray.

There was this huge, very disasterously ugly, spider in the bathroom. Now normally I think spiders are cute.

I sprayed it with my trusty spray. It fell from the ceiling to the floor. I sprayed it more than necessary, in an effort to speed up the process.

I mean, come on, I was in the middle of my shower and I see this thing crawling on the ceiling. I handled it effortlessly better than my brother would have. For one, I didn't scream. I tried squishing it, but I was, erm, vertically challenged.

Hence the run to the bug spray.

I told my mom I killed it, only to have the legs move again. I let out a frustrated yelp and sprayed it more, then ran, still in my towel, to find a shoe.

There is now bug guts on the bathroom floor.

See, this slightly depresses me. I actually like bugs, especially spiders. It saddens me to kill them. Even if this one was ugly.

However, like all humans, I dislike everything when I'm vulnerable. A.k.a. in the shower or unconscious.

My trusty bug spray is within hand's reach of my bed.

Paranoid? Not really. My house needs to be bombed. With bug stuff. They supposedly did it before we moved in, but I do not see any evidence supporting that statement.

I do see evidence supporting my point of view.

Like the three spiders currently in the corners of my bedroom. Though, as long as they stay up there, they are safe.

At least until tomorrow, when I am getting a broom and getting rid of all things remotely insect-like the old fashioned way.

Plus a little bug spray.