Bugging out

Some people believe they have a guardian angel or a good luck fairy. I personally think I have been blessed with a fairy bugmother.

A few years ago, I wrote a long-winded post about my fear of waterbugs, and how they were one of the more significant reasons I fled New York. The only part of that story that bears repeating is in which I woke up one night to the sound of some weird, Victrola-like music playing outside my window. I had never heard the music before, and it seemed like nothing I would ever hear in this era. While I was listening, trying to figure out what it was or where it was coming from, I heard a more alarming sound - the clickety-clack of little roach legs running across my hardwood floors, settling somewhere under my bed.

Instinctively, I jumped up and out, grabbed the Raid from our bathroom, and commenced a 10 minute standoff until eventually I killed the little f#@ker in the corner. It was only as I waited for him to show himself that I realized at some point, the music had stopped. In the dead of night, in the darkness of the witching hour, I couldn't help but think it had been playing a wake-up call for my benefit.

This past Saturday night, I went to wash my face in the bathroom, and a bug swooped down from the ceiling and flew at my head. I couldn't tell what kind of bug, exactly, because I ducked for cover and ran screaming out of the room, but it had a thorax at least the size of a dime and more determination than I had courage.

I returned to the bathroom ready for battle with a bottle of Raid, a thick glossy magazine and a broom. I looked in every crevice, in every nook and corner, and eventually, in every other room of my apartment, but the bug was no where to be found. I went to sleep that night unsettled, but with little other option.

Sunday night, I woke up at 2:30 AM and instinctively knew. I don't know how - maybe I heard its wings flap against my wall, maybe I was highly attuned to the change in energy. But I sat up in bed, turned on the light, and waited, wondering. I even strained my ears for the familiar sound of the Victrola. Other than my racing heart, there was nothing to suggest anything was askew, but minutes later, I caught it fluttering behind my nightstand, inches from where my head had just been resting.

I jumped off the bed, grabbed my armor, but when I came back - can you guess? - the bug was nowhere to be found. I threw things at my night tables and banged my broom behind them, hoping to rouse the louse. I eventually dragged them and my bed more than a foot away from the walls, creating an island fortress from which I sat, ready to attack. I also checked my closet and the bathroom and the kitchen and the living room, but I couldn't shake the thought that it had all but shacked up, and was seconds away from storming my castle.

I sat awake for two hours, until 4:30 AM. Eventually I let myself lie down, or, more accurately, curl up in the center of my bed, and fell asleep with the lights on, gripping the can of Raid with one hand, my broom with another.

Last night, Albert sprayed Raid around the perimeter of my room, my bathroom, my bug-fearing brain. I still slept with the lights on, my bed in the center of the room. But sleep I did, and I'm praying that if there is still something haunting my home, that I can trust my Spidey sense to keep me safe from danger.