I got up this morning with the intention of getting things and stuff done. You know, things and stuff. I was going to accomplish...accomplishment. On my way, I decided to get dressed. It's a good start. Out of bed, over to the clothing rack. I jostled it slightly and a roach popped it's antennae over the collar of my favorite jacket. I carefully set back the hanger I had in my hand and moved to sit back on the bed. I had a decision to make. How would I respond to the new moment in my day? I carefully made my way upstairs, looking back to make sure the roach wasn't following me, and I sat at the kitchen table. I continued to sit there for quite a while, contemplating the various solutions. I could go get roach killer, but I was in still my pajamas. My friend said she'd kill it, but she won't be up here for another week. I could certainly wear the same clothes for a week, and never venture downstairs and go to work and the gym and keep existing. It's feasible, right? But what about the future when I decide to live alone again? What would I do? I can't kill them. I don't know why. They crunch. It's gross and gooey and disgusting.
Independent, handle any situation gal who's been going to the gym and generally feeling well about life, despite the break up, was reduced to almost crying and a minor panic attack because she couldn't kill a roach. Mildly embarrassing.
I told this story to Jesi, who found me at her kitchen table, my feet not touching the floor with the slight crazed look in my eye. She offered to kill it and I hesitated. Wasn't sure that'd be necessary. Maybe I'd just forget the thing was even down there. But...what would I wear?
She made the choice for me and put on her sandals and went to the basement, armed with her self-confidence. Me? I huddled on the stairs, watching out for the evil creature to reappear. She finished going through my clothes and I thought we were doomed. I didn't see it, but I know I didn't imagine it either.
She rattled my purse and I watched it fall under my flying pig designed rainboots my mom just sent up. It started scurrying for freedom, but something blocked it's way. Jesi was throwing my shoes left and right, when the roach ran straight to the bottom of her shoe and committed suicide.
I clapped. The battle and death deserved applause. I had my piece of mind back. A piece that was stolen by a roach, in the frozen wasteland (albeit, beautiful) of Alaska. Where roached should not be. Not in my world.
And during the escapades is when I realized, my closest friends? The ones I count as important and have been with me the longest? They have either offered to kill or have killed bugs for me. That must be the true measure of my friendships. And I'm okay with this. I can handle my big problems with minor help, but kill a bug? You're mine forever.
Looks like I have a new friend to add to the list, and I'll always have room for more.