The Monday Muse. New year, same old fear.

I wish I could make a new year’s resolution to ditch the arachnophobia and start 2016 as a spider lover. Unfortunately it is not that simple. Here’s a little tale of how my Saturday morning was spent, with a spider. Happy new year.

Five cm.

It was the first time the boy had left the house without me since Christmas. It was no less than ten minutes after his departure – while I was sat indulging in some festive telly – that the eight legged brute creeped across the hallway like it owned the place.

To be fair, it now did.

I mustered up all strength to flatten it with a shoebox. It did a vanishing act. Distressed phone calls were made. I sat for two hours. Staring at the vacant space.

I was bound to my bedroom, all five feet two of my coward body disarmed whilst that five centimetres of audacity paraded around my house at will.

I’d admire their chutzpah, if only I didn’t hate them so much.

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Arachnophobe.

Today’s task was to talk of fears, in a style distinct from my own. So in taking a break from my seemingly endless sentences I have crammed ten full stops into just fifty three words…

 

Arachnophobe.

My blood had chilled. It was flowing around my body in an icy haze. He was taunting me. I was petrified.

He could read every sign. Of course he could. You don’t miss much with eight eyes.

I was minding my own business. He invaded my peripheral. Now we were at a standoff.