I’m pretty sure there was a spider carcass on my lean cuisine the other day. He dropped in on me (literally) when I was driving and I grabbed the only nearby defense—low-fat prepackaged food. I swatted him, like I did his obese cousin two weeks ago, because the bastard was teasing me behind my sun visor, sticking out a leg every few seconds like he was a dancer and I was at a peep show for arachnids.
Um, I would NEVER go to a place like that. Spiders are the DEVIL.
Sometimes I think I feel things crawling on me and I freak out and scratch my arm or wrist or neck or wherever the ghost creature is residing. I probably look like a crack addict—that’s fine. Judge me all you want, but I’d rather not be hosting the dinner buffet to a hoard of hungry bugs. I don’t know why these phantom creatures are crawling on me. Every time I look down, it’s either the headphone cord or a blanket or a piece of paper has brushed up against me, but that’s never what I think it is. It’s always some blood sucking, creepy crawling creature and I’m in panic mode. SCRATCH-SCRATCH-SCRATCH before I even look down. Maybe this is like, a deep rooted fear of bugs. But it’s not bugs, I don’t think. It’s spiders.
I HATE spiders.
Because I already found two in Georgie, I am now afraid of driving her. There are probably more, right? Horny little multiplying bastards… And with these phantom creatures crawling all over me, it makes driving a whole lot more dangerous than my already questionable commuting. These phantom bugs are EVERYWHERE.
Like when I was coming home from work the other day, I SWEAR TO GOD there was something on my bun. The inevitable scream followed and I proceeded to hit myself in the back of the head over and over to kill it until I was sure it was either dead or it had been knocked free. But how can I know for sure? It may have just been hiding behind the seat and that’s when the continuous game of glance-back-and swat-if-necessary every few seconds began. I was close to my apartment complex so this highly dangerous trip only lasted for a few minutes. And by that point, I’d given myself a decent headache from smacking myself and the would-be spider which, most likely, was just a stray piece of hair tickling my scalp.
But how can you know for sure?
Then I think, what if I was bit? I may have been. There was this questionable red spot on my hand and I have NO idea where it came from. So, logically speaking… I could turn into Spiderwoman. What would I do then? True, it would help me overcome my fears, but I’d just be full of self loathing and would probably wind up throwing myself off a tall building… or donating myself to science, because I’m charitable like that.
I really don’t know what it is about spiders. Maybe it’s all the eyes or the pincers or the fact that they have all those legs. But that can’t be it, can it? I’m perfectly content with octopuses. They’ve never bothered me, which is surprising since the only one I’ve really been exposed to is Ursula from The Little Mermaid and she was a total bitch. I’m kind of afraid of deep dark places like the ocean where giant, spider-like creatures dwell. So you would think octopuses would be my boggart, but surprisingly, they aren’t. If I was sitting in Professor Lupin’s class, like Ron, that giant eight-legged bastard would pop out of the chest and I would scream and faint and probably fail the class. At least Ron had the sense to put some roller skates on his.
But spiders appear right here, on the surface and apparently, in the car with me. It’s funny because right before I killed the one that dropped in on me, I thought how cute and small it was and wondered for just a split second if it was one of Charlotte’s million babies. You know, from Charlotte’s web. Except for being a terrible mother and letting all her babies float away, she was a good person—er, spider. Very sweet to Wilbur, helping him not get turned into bacon and all. So I have to give her some credit for that—even if she did walk on eight legs. I guess spiders get at least a point for her. Well… we’ll bump it down to half a point (the terrible mother thing and all). But of course there are the other insanely evil spiders like that one in Lord of the Rings. Shelob, I think? I don’t know; I never read it. Aragog wasn’t terrible, except for the fact that he wanted to eat Harry and Ron in the second one, and then Voldemort unleashed all his babies in his final takeover of the castle. Seriously, besides Charlotte, I can’t think of any other good, iconic spiders. Which makes them all the DEVIL. Because they are. In my opinion. Not only are they invading my car, but my imagination as well. Because even as I’ve sat here writing this, I’ve had at least three different moments where I felt something creeping over my skin. I had to stop, quickly scratch and realize it was the USB or the end of the paper towels touching me. They’re following me… I know they are. Or maybe I just surround myself with too much stuff. Maybe I should write—and live—in a space with nothing. Just me and the laptop. Except, when there’s nothing nearby and I still feel the phantom creatures crawling on me… what then?