My Pet Roaches

            I lied. They aren’t gone. But they don’t like humans. This I have discovered. When I’m out of town for multiple days, I’ll come home to four or five lying bell-up on the floor of my room. Well, they are not always on the floor. One I found inside a box on my floor. Another I found inside a department store bag. You might be able to imagine a way that they got inside these without actually crawling in themselves, but the one I found between my mattress and box spring could only have gotten there one way.

They can crawl vertically.

Gratefully, of the fifty or so roaches I’ve swept into a dustpan and dumped in the kitchen trash bin, only one has actually been alive. My bug traps must be doing something. I really don’t think I could endure the emotional trauma of having creepy-crawlers in my bedroom. Creepy-crawlers that are actually crawling, that is.

If you are thinking, “knock on wood” also think about what it would be like to have my elbow break your nose.

There, now wasn’t that a pleasant telepathic conversation?

Most of my blog entries have some sort of moral, conclusion, or point. This one has none. Some things have no point. Sometimes, there just isn’t a message. Sometimes life is a series of disconnected vignettes. Sometimes you have to look small in order to see large.

Sometimes you have to write a simple blog entry in order to work through the dozen blog entry ideas that have much deeper themes. Sometimes you just have to write in order to write more.