Sunday, August 27, 2006

Day 7

My biggest challenge today was taking out the rubbish. Oh and releasing ‘Boris’ back into the wild. Boris was a huge, and I mean huge, house spider than I found in my bathroom late Friday night. He was annoyingly sitting halfway between floorboards and wall in my bathroom - taunting me with his big black hairy legs and giant body. His positioning made it rather difficult to catch him in the prerequisite spider catching jar that I have for such emergencies. Gone are the men in my life that are useful at such times, mind you the last one was agoraphobic – oops Freudian slip, the last one had arachnophobia so I had to do all the manly bug catching myself. To cut a long story shorter, I finally got the slippery little fucker into a jar and got the lid on before he ran all over the ship. He was super fast, which was rather alarming considering his terrifying size. I kept him in the jar overnight with the promise that I would set him free outside the next day (I was very late after all). The next day however, when I was trying to set him free, the dopey creature had webbed himself a cocoon inside the jar and after 30 minutes of trying to shake him free out of my second storey window he remained in the jar.

Today we ventured down to the garden together and with the aid of a long stick – he eventually took the hint and hit the dirt. My job was done. This saintly act did however leave me feeling that I had bugs crawling all over me and kept seeing bugs out the corner of my eyes all afternoon. Shudder. The closest sighting being on my sleeve, until I realised that it was indeed a giant bug, and I actually had a huge beetle on the arm of my jumper. Christ. (Sorry God, I know it’s Sunday). Out came the newly vacated spider catching jar and I began round two of saintly acts for the day - setting free a giant beetle. I need a medal – and a Diazepam.

This morning after hauling myself out of my pit to answer my daily morning wake up call from my mama, I hauled myself back under the covers with a giant bowl of cornflakes and my latest novel and after a few chapters slept 'till well after noon. Reading is new development in trying to get my brain to function normally. When I was first unwell I couldn’t concentrate on anything with any substance, rather frustrating for someone who used to read textbooks voraciously. My daily adventures with "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" began, followed by films such as “Mean Girls”. Gone was my penchant for subtitled films – there was simply no room left in my head. Goldfish status reigned supreme until very recently when I began reading again. Danielle Steele was about as deep as I could go for a long time, but now I have ventured onto Josephine Cox. Sometimes I wonder if this is a little more traumatic reading than a Valerie Walkerdine analysis of the use of adolescents in advertising or Naomi Wolf on “Promiscuities”, as all it does is remind me that I’m lonely and that good loving’ only happens to people in the 1950’s that work in corner shops with their mother. I have however, ventured into broadening my reading ‘repertoire’ during recent trip to my local library where I took out a copy of “Depression For Dummies”.

Memory is also something that went the way of all flesh when all this started – and now I have forgotten to have my dinner. Must remember to eat. And not catch bugs for the next few days…

Today was almost positively green.

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