Friday, July 06, 2007
Life Imitates Art
It's about 4 a.m. and I'm lying in bed. I just was working on a piece about the giant cockroaches that have taken over my life and I look over and a giant fucking house centipede (remember those guys?) was crawling across the wall. I jumped up and sprayed it. I thought it fell down behind the bed and proceeded to sit on the bed (I was naked, mind you) to make sure I'd eliminated it. I didn't see any traces of it, save a leg or twelve stuck to the wall where I'd sprayed, so I figured I'd killed it. I stood up to get a tissue for the wall and realized it had been under my bare ass cheek the entire time, still squirming. Now, I admit I was getting a little too sentimental with the cockroach story--no one wants to hear about my formative years in subsidized housing--and needed to be stopped, but this is just too much to handle. Seriously, I'm now freaked out by the sight of my own hair on my pillow. I just cannot deal with this shit. We won't even talk about what happened to my friend Liz.. OK, we will: a giant cockroach crawled across her face in my bed a couple weeks ago. I live in squalor.