Early last week, a large spider dropped from the top of the front door and dangled in my face when I got home from work and tried, obviously with some audacity, to enter my own house. Late last week as I was driving to work and talking to the husband, an extremely large and limber spider dropped out of the sun visor and dangled in my face. It was most unpleasant and the husband was sure, based on my robust response, that I was in an accident or about to cause one. That little bastard never did show up again, but I’m ready for him when he does eventually rear his ugly thorax in my car for The Final Showdown.
And then today. With no husband to protect me and a dog who couldn’t care less about any wildlife sans tail, yet a third spider dropped in my face. What the hell, spiders?!?! This ugly twerp was dangling from the ceiling fan when the dog and I got home from our morning walk and the second I turned the hand vacuum on him, he disappeared, and not into the business end of the Dyson. This independent woman reacted appropriately, dropping the now-useless vacuum and fleeing into the bedroom while shrieking. The dog gave the vacuum his best evil eye but was essentially unconcerned. I can pay the bills and I can cut the grass and I can check my oil, but seriously, what the hell, spiders?!?! What needs eight legs? And why must you all appear suddenly and from thin air when I’m ALONE?
DC is an expensive place to live, and the idea of trying to find an apartment on one salary, and not a large one, does not thrill me. What thrills me even less is the idea of staying here while the husband goes to DC without me, but the fact is, you can’t actually eat love. Or that many Ramen noodles after the age of 22, come to think of it.
This is the sixth week straight that I have been applying for jobs daily. My jobs folder on our desktop has 54 cover letters in it. I made the sad realization today that I have been looking for a job for most of my career–at my first two jobs because I didn’t enjoy the work and couldn’t wait to leave and now at this job because I’m leaving, nevermind the fact that I love the work.
Feeling utterly discouraged, lonely, and terrorized by random, hairy octopeds, I cried all the way home from work but realized too late that I didn’t have a kleenex or a napkin. So I did what any independent woman would do and wiped my eyes with a panty liner for 75 miles.
Is it Friday yet?