The Battle, Day 3

My spider kit is ready.

A board is propped upright beside me, for dropping on the enemy from a height. It also doubles as a place to practice that tap sequence from Monday that I seem to have forgotten (which annoys me, because how am I supposed to practice and improve if I can't remember it in the first place?).

A slab of pure marble that I found on the dryer rests in my lap. The sucker's got to be at least eight pounds, probably more. This is also for dropping on the enemy from a height.

A long piece from a set of wooden blocks sits on my choreography table beside me, for parry-thrusting the enemy as it tries to scale the walls. Provided I can bear to bring my bare hand to within eight and a half inches of that thing. (Ugh. I can't even bear thinking of the crunch it'll make... ugh. *shudders*)

And though it's annoying me to no end, I'm still wearing my shoes.

You, spider, will die. I have to finish a very intricate piece of choreography and do my dad's tax papers before the first of November. The more you ruin my concentration and throw off my project-accomplishing trajectory, the more horrible your end will be.

So, last chance. Get out of my room. Lest it become your coffin.

War

I am crouching on my chair. My left foot is clothed in my brother's massive work boot, my right is wearing one of my dad's work shoes. Every two seconds I look down at the floor below me, then glance at the wall just a foot and a half beyond my computer.

Because I know it's here. And I know it's still alive. Probably not even frightened.

Little bugger. It knew exactly the one location it could sit on its fat butt and taunt me with its presence yet be unreachable. It's moments like these which make me want to put 'machine gun' on my Christmas wish list. I don't care what one of those would do to the wall, I just want that thing out of here.

Oh, I've heard the stories of cockroaches. Of rats. Of tarantulas the size of dinner plates. You might say I'm being a little irrational here.

But listen, here in Alberta, the spiders get huge. Huge. And freaking terrifying.

Black, with thick legs, a good inch long (when bent!), and tiny spindly bodies which somehow makes them all the more threatening. And huge. You know that famous Alberta beef? If we ever get a shortage of cows we could move on to the spiders that grow here and no-one would be any the wiser.

And it's October. October. The spiders should all be dead. Spring is the dawn of the spiders, what the freak are they doing still hanging out in my room now? Why can't they ever go live in the bathroom or something? At least you don't sleep in the bathroom. I have to somehow manage to get to sleep tonight. And I had planned on knocking out another thirty seconds on this choreography that's almost done...

That's slightly impossible when just putting your feet on the floor -- even shod for battle -- is cause for terror. If my bed weren't a loft bed, I would definitely be sleeping upstairs tonight, I don't care how uncomfortable the couch is. As it is I doubt I'll sleep easy knowing that thing, that horrific grotesque freak of nature is still here, in this room, alive and unafraid.

My feet are falling asleep. Last I saw the enemy, it was under the desk, too far back for me to reach. Probably still hiding under there, just out of sight, just out of reach, laughing at me.

I guess I'm going to bed early tonight. Wasn't quite the motivation I was looking for though.