Maturity, Beth Style ...
The past two nights have seen their share of showers and storms. And I – despite the awesome plumbing solution in my basement that should prevent my basement from every flooding again – cannot sleep when it rains. I get up to check the radar and then I'm up for hours, babysitting the map.
And so it was Thursday into Friday and again Friday into today.
I was proud of myself for waking up, hearing the rain, and turning over to doze off again. But at some point, the rain began to fall more heavily. And so I flipped back the covers, sat up, twirled my ponytail like I do, and attempted to clip it up in some fashion.
I walked into the TV room, where I'd left my laptop, and as I walked through the doorway, I felt a bit of my hair fall out of the clip.
I proceeded to check the radar. The rain was nearly out of the area. I stayed up for awhile. I headed into the kitchen to grab the ice cream and a spoon. I returned to the couch and realized I'd grabbed a fork. I returned to the kitchen to make the swap, and then settled onto the couch to watch TV and lick the ice cream lid.
Eventually, I headed back to bed. I woke up at 9 a.m. I never sleep until 9 a.m. anymore. Those days are long, long gone.
I had chilled some coffee yesterday, so I shuffled into the kitchen to fetch a glass, add some goo, add some ice, stir it with a straw, and wander back to the laptop to begin my morning online rounds.
I watched the first part of "The Rachel Maddow Show" that was unavailable to me yesterday evening because apparently any amount of rain is too much for my satellite dish to bear, and eventually convinced myself to start my day.
I headed back into the kitchen with my glass and straw and my brain said, "What was that? Was that a spider?"
No, of course it wasn't a spider. Because my brain knows from spiders and reacts accordingly. It is already sure of no-spider status before I really check for a spider.
And I know this because when my brain does indeed register an honest-to-God arachnid in my midst, I scream and flail and frantically brush any spider phantoms off of me, then look around, panicked, sure that it's about to crawl on me again.
In reality, I know that at that point, the spider has scurried off to the nearest dark place where it places a call to its therapist, but in my world, spiders don't back down.
And so I turned to look at the wall where I might have seen a spider, and sure enough, there was no spider to be found.
Because it was in a web in the doorway to the TV room.
I had not felt my hair fall earlier in the night.
No, my hair had brushed up against the web. Or, God help me, the spider, which, God help me, could have decided to fetch a ride on my head and then crawl down my neck and oh, Jesus, why am I even thinking about this?!
The aforementioned "maturity" from the the title of the post comes in here.
I stood there, staring at the spider, which was not insignificant in size, though was not quite a Buick*, and thought the aforetranscribed thoughts, and then proceeded to get the vacuum and suck it up. At which point I let the vacuum run for a good long time. It's s Dyson. That thing sucks more than, well, something that really sucks. So I figured that the spider didn't really stand a chance in there. Also, it was probably asphyxiated by schmutz.
I have no idea how it ended up in that doorway and I'm telling myself that it only spun that meager web last night.
But I am proud of myself for not lapsing into a spider-induced jerking fit. Especially since I walked into a chair yesterday and probably broke a toe. I don't need any other casualties.
I shall, however, be mindful to check doorways before I walk through them. And turn on some lights at night.
* The-spider-the-size-of-a-Buick from "Annie Hall" will forever be one of my all-time favorite images from a film.