Here’s something both sad and gross: A few moments ago, as I sat on my tuffet, typing away about Victorians, a spider came along and hung out very close to the tuffet. I’m currently in a phase where I am trying to spare the lives of innocent spiders, but it was so big and scary, and it is two in the morning, so I dropped a book on it. It squooshed, and then zillions to teeny-tiny spiders spilled out all over our floor—like black dandelion fluff on a windy day. I had to kill them too. It doesn’t make me happy. It’s kind of disgusting, and I feel bad for the spider(s), and I’m a little scared of going to hell. As a child, my conception of hell was spending eternity with all the spiders I had killed. Since then, I’ve been exposed to more sophisticated theological propositions, but those formative beliefs tend to stick with you.

2 thoughts on “Ugh…

  1. Obviously, female spider agency during the postmodern era is mediated through the absence or presence of a dominant female figure. You.

  2. Hi Barry, I love reading your blogs and the way you express yourself. I always feel guilty when I kill something and recently I squished a beautiful large grasshopper as it was dominating my pot of capsicum. I realised I could have caught him for Ian to immortalise. Love for now Margaret

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s