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Monday, November 3, 2003
navel lint: Spiders Bite. Heh.
It's a "me" kind-of night, here in NC. It's really cool out. There's a breeze. It's going to be some fine, cold sleeping weather. Weather that begs of me to sleep with my bedroom windows open. Under less life-threatening circumstances, that is.
Noooooo. There is a huge, hairy, pulsating, blood-thirsty spider who has decided to set up camp right outside my bedroom window. 'But Beth', you might ask, 'don't you have screens in your windows?' Well yes I do. But I had to break in to my own place some months back by going around to most of my windows, splitting the screen, and figuring out which one did NOT have the storm window down.
Obviosuly, I found one and I'm inside now. Thanks for your concern.
So now, most of my screens have a little slash (don't tell my landlord). Surely, that neanderthal spider that is skulking around outside my bedroom window would find that slash and come on in and feast on my flesh and laugh and laugh.
Stupid blood-lusting spider. I bet it's out there with a big cigar and some brandy, laughing and revelling in my huge, soul-crushing misery.
My spider is sooooo not named Charlotte. It's Damien. Or Cruella. Unquestionably it has some name that solidifies its legion with all that is wrong.
Damien Cruella George Dubya Spider.
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