Like a lot of people, I’m deathly afraid of spiders. I know, I know. It’s an irrational fear. I do realize that. When people try and tell me that spiders don’t pose a threat to me (or, you know, at least the ones where I live don’t) I wholeheartedly agree. They’re not dangerous to me. I just hate the little spawns of Satan and I always have.
I have a personal theory that the eight-legged Demons can smell my fear, because they’re always running into me in the worst times. Take when I was learning to drive a few years back–I’m pulling into the driveway, flip down the visor to open the garage, and what falls into my lap but a white spider. It has been all cozy and nestled in the visor, waiting to make its grand horrific entrance. Of course, I flipped my lid. Thank the Lord I was in the driveway, not on the highway anymore, or else i’d’ve probably jumped out the car at 60 mph trying to escape the tiny terror.
Heaven forbid I’m alone in my house and I meet a spider. Such an encounter usually ends up with what I call a “barricade”–or, more simply, with me stuffing books and clothes in the crack under the door of whatever room the spider is in until someone else gets home. I can’t deal with them myself ( unless they’re a) daddy longlegs or b) incredibly tiny, as in practically-grain-of-salt-sized tiny). Pathetic, I know. Believe me, I know I’m always one well-placed slap of a newspaper away from eliminating them…but I can’t. My blood runs cold when I see one. Most of the time, all I can do is silent-scream as I sprint away like Usain Bolt.
Anyway. Suffice it to say that the spawns of hell and I do not get along well, and that I can’t stand to sight of them–even in pictures. (Last year I accidentally ripped a page out of my psychology textbook b/c there was a tarantula on the page and I shoved the book away like it was the plague. Hilarity of hilarity, page was about phobias.)
I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get over my fear someday.
I doubt it, though. It’ll probably take divine intervention for it to happen.