How’s your Thursday going?

Hopefully yours has fewer unwanted legs than mine.

Trigger warning for arachNOphobia story and words, you similarly lucky bastard. And if you don’t like my coping mechanism of cursing as punctuation, you’re gonna have to fuck off.

I hope your Thursday’s going better than mine. It’s 7 am, and I’m writing a blog post to calm my brain (great grounding method — would recommend). I’m not normally conscious until 11 am (thanks to Ben’s late shifts), so it’s already a real shitfest.

Anyway, let’s get into it! Woohoo! Yeaaah!

So it begins.

Did you wake up to your phobia a mere three feet from your once restfully snoozing face?

I did.

Nope, my phobia isn’t my other half, Ben; it’s those (useful) bastards with a few too many legs for comfort. (Not centipedes, although…)

Yes. Spiders. My brain and spiders haven’t got along since I can remember, and now there’s one in my bedroom. My “safe room” in the house, where I can retreat when I’m a little overwhelmed with spider anxiety.

Yes, my phobia is that bad, and where we chose to live doesn’t help. Living in a rustic bungalow in the countryside has its perks, but spider invasions aren’t one of them, especially if you’re a fly. Or me. (Or Cassi — more later.)

I’ve worked pretty hard (well, as hard as you can when you have the executive function of a rabid fox) on dealing with this phobia. I couldn’t even say “spider” a couple of years back — now look at me! I can type it and everything.

*Basks in applause*

Apparently, this phobia stems from deep childhood trauma, and my brain processing it like an absolute fuck. That makes a lot of sense, as pretty much everything about me derives from profound trauma and my brain being a monumental prick.

Thanks for that incredibly expensive insight, therapy! (Seriously, go see a therapist.)

A couple of years ago, I’d have started shrill screaming and crying at the sight of a spider like this one. So you could say I’ve improved somewhat with this whole exposure thing. I now sound less like I’m being murdered and more like I’m just disappointed to be alive. (Classic Millennial.)

My response has gone from “AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUCK!”

to

“Ah, fuck. Great. Fucking WHY? Where’s the fucking hoover? Or Ben? Or both?”

Anyway, on to the best bit.

So, I wake up at 5:51 am (I love you birds and morning sunlight, but fuck off).

And what beautiful sight awaits my sleepy eyes? Cassi, looking cute AF, like a little toasty bagel? Yes, but also AH FUCKING SHIT. (I’m sure you saw this coming from the otherwise entirely irrelevant preamble.)

I see a relatively large spidery fucker on the wall next to me. It’s on that bit between the ceiling and the wall. Of course. Now it’ll be a bitch to remove. Of course. (I could be a psychic if that industry wasn’t pseudoscientific bollocks.)

The cold sweats of adrenaline start and my heart rate surges. My rational brain is in no fit state to reason with the ridiculous brain. It’s at least four hours too early for that.

But hey, I’m not screaming or crying! (Achievement unlocked). I’m just looking at the crawly fucker in absolute disdain and trying to work out if it’s moving.

(Moving spiders are level 10 fear compared to sitting spiders at level 7 fear. Yep, I have a 1–10 fear scale, and it’s quite useful. And likely hilarious to outsiders; you’re welcome. If you’re not a phobia outsider, look up “fear hierarchy.” It’s super helpful and terrifying at the same time, but you gotta!)

So, being the absolute arsehole I am, I wake Ben up and ask this groggy AF guy to get rid of it with the hoover. He’s unimpressed but goes for it.

This request was a mistake. I’ll get to another one of those later.

Naturally, he’s half asleep, so he absolutely fucks it up. Can’t blame him. Sorry for waking you up, mate. (He’s been snoozing peacefully since, the bastard.)

So, the spider is now missing. For now, the bedroom is a write-off. Guess what that means?

I’m now in the living room.

Ooooh, dramatic.

Well, it kinda is.

Cassi found a sizeable spider on this very sofa on Tuesday night.

Don’t worry; here’s the comedic relief.

Cassi is scared of spiders. Yep. She is similarly a little bitch. (And literally, because she’s a dog.)

She slowly skulked across the room towards the sofa, tail down, so I realised something was wrong.

Ah. There it is. A house spider (level 2 fear even thinking of that phrase). Well, that’s really frigging good finding. Well done, Cassi! Incessant praise doesn’t help; tail still very sad.

Hmm, comfort the dog or deal with the spider two feet from me?

I’m trying to do that writing/editing job thing (yeah, I do this shit for a living) in the adjacent chair, and now I’ve been accosted by a creature with a freakish amount of eyes and legs. (Not Cassi; she’s relatively normal.)

Because I really love making mistakes, getting the hoover on the other side of the room felt risky. I didn’t want to disturb the spidery fucker and have it run all over my hands or feet, after all. (Level 400 fear on the 1–10 scale.)

So I call in another dog (we’ve only got three; it’s unfortunately not an endless supply). I opt for the one with the most ridiculous prey drive — Lacey.

This dog is roughly a foot tall, likely a dwarf, and she can jump five feet in the air to catch a fly even with her wanky leg. I figured she was a good candidate for the job.

Unfortunately, I didn’t account for the fact that she’s really fucking stupid.

I point to the spider with a fork to show her where it is. She doesn’t clock on because, well, she’s a dog.

Instead, she takes the fork and runs off with it. You can’t make this shit up. Said spider also runs off, sans fork. (Level 4578 fear: Missing spider.)

Now, this is possibly the spider that’s taken up residence in the bedroom or one of its endless siblings.

Who fucking knows.

Unfortunately, I can’t kill them with fire because this is a rental property. (I don’t have the energy for a landlord rant, but Tories and rich people bad, etc.)

I’ve had three hours’ sleep, so if anyone wants me today, I’ll be binge-eating hash browns from a popular fast food company and avoiding the bedroom. (Cockblocked by a spider, Ben, ha!)

Happy Thursday!

Also, for dog tax @delacassi.

And check the comments for an update 👀