Trauma

I seriously cannot believe this.

First, I think I must've spent a good half hour in my last sleeping moments, dreaming about running around in a cockroach-infested place. And specifically dreaming, in detail, about cockroaches lurking around, and me looking around to see where they were so I could avoid getting in their running, or flying, path. Yeah, no storyline, no adventure, just fuckin' looking around for cockroaches and making sure I stayed away from them. A good half hour... okay at least twenty minutes, I'm pretty sure. This is probably as real to life as any of my stupid dreams can get - and this is really stupid.

Second, the first thing my groggy eyes caught when I woke up this morning and did the usual sit-on-the-bowl thing, was a baby cockroach. At the doorway of the bathroom. Okay, maybe not quite 'baby'. Maybe a teenager, or at least a tween. Nonetheless, to me, big enough. I sat stunned on the bowl, and in a guised blessing sort of way, it helped wake me up. What do I do? Leave it, catch it. What do I do?

Third, I could not, for the life of me, catch a fuckin' teenage cockroach. There I was, finally decided about catching, squatting at the doorway, staring hard at the teenager, a very thick roll of toilet paper in hand. I remember, squatting there and thinking at the same time: This is going to be the very first cockroach I've caught with my own hands - if I ever catch it. In fact, this is going to be the very first bloody cockroach I am even attempting to catch. Disgusting. The thing about cockroaches is they are really dumb. And teenage cockroaches, whose brains are probably only still half-developed, are really even dumber. Dumb enough to hold still in that position at the doorway for me to aim and hit. But I didn't because I started to stare really hard at the motionless thing and I started a second chain of thought: This is SO SO ugly. How can I ever kill anything this ugly? This is SO SO ugly. How can I... Dumbness does inspire dumbness.

Okay, I have to fuckin' kill it because (a) Mom is not around, and (b) it is going to grow up nice and fat and become that really ugly full-blown thing.

If only I had Baygon or something... and I don't. But I have perfume. Which sprays too. And I'm pretty sure that ugly thing would flip if I doused it in spicy sweet liquids.

So I did just that. Tried to douse it in some old cheap perfume. Which was obviously a stupid idea because it didn't flip and die. It did, however, turn and start to run - in a slightly stunned manner. And panicky by now, I tried running after it and smacking it with that roll of toilet paper.

And the point of today's story is: I can't even kill a slow-running teenage cockroach.


This is it. The very final straw.

That teenager has run into hiding, underneath the couch I'm sitting upon now. And unless it finds its way home to his stupid parents, I'm pretty sure I will come home one day to see it bigger and uglier.

I HAVE TO MOVE.