I was just working on my Minneaoplis zine, drawing a picture of a scorpion, when--oh wait, you're wondering why the heck I'm drawing a picture of a scorpion if the zine is about Minneapolis, right? Well, I'm talking about learning about where you live, and how when I lived in Arizona, I learned a lot about scorpions.
Okay, so back to the action: I'm drawing a picture of a scorpion, when out of the corner of my eye, I see a large something go skittering across the floor. I look, and all I can see is a long brown blur, because I have my reading glasses on, and, thank God, it's far enough away that I can't focus on it. Well, it stops in its tracks when I move, so I try to squint at it, or at least lean over in my chair to see more. It's huge! Okay, 4 inches long. Too stretched out and rectangular to be a spider. Long feathery legs. Only the word "feathery" would seem to imply beauty. But all I feel is revulsion.
I decide that whatever the hell it is, it's going to die now. I cross my fingers and hold my breath, then toss my Puma high-top at it. Hooray! Squish successful! I sit there for a few minutes before I dare to go look underneath the shoe. Well, I don't know what it is still. A centipede? Not enough legs. So what's in between an arachnid and a centipede on the leg-o-meter? I don't know. And I'm not researching it tonight. I'm probably already going to have bug dreams.
Lalala let's talk about something else. But seriously, how weird is it that happened? We don't get a lot of bugs in Minnesota. That's one of the things I like about it very much. Ants, brown house spiders, that's about it. It was almost serendipitous, except that word implies a happy coincidence, and I was not happy. There must a word that means a negative kind of coincidence. Anyone? Bueller?