Every morning before I leave the house, I set up my tripod, camera, and computer, and take my daily photo. It’s kind of a long process, but I do everything in the same order every single morning — an order I found to be most efficient. Set up the tripod…take the camera out of the closet…set up camera without turning it on…turn on computer…pull up the Internet…is this getting boring? The point is, I have an awesome routine.
Yesterday began no differently. I started the process, getting out my tripod first, then moving to the coat closet to get out the camera. As I turned toward the closet, something on the ceiling caught my eye. A black spot. A seriously disgusting thick black spider. I’m sort of embarrassed to admit that I know spiders (and we’ll get to that in a minute), meaning I knew that this was a jumping spider. I had to move underneath him to get to the closet, which was where the vacuum was (and I’ll tell you right now, I will NEVER kill a spider with a piece of toilet paper — that allows WAY too much contact with those nasty things). During this whole minute or so that I stood looking at the spider, thinking about how to kill it and avoid having it jump on my head, I suddenly realized I was nearly hyperventilating and even feeling sweaty (sorry…TMI?)
After killing the nasty spider (hitting it with our mop, which made it fall on the ground and then I quickly vacuumed it up), I sort of came back to my senses. The hyperventilating stopped, the beads of sweat were wiped away, and I went on with my daily photo, although still feeling imaginary bugs crawling on me.
Later during the day, I was thinking about this disgusting experience and realized how much this part of my personality has changed since I was younger. I may have mentioned before that growing up (before my dad had boys), I was the “boy” of the family. I was the one who helped my dad fix the toilet when it was broken. I was the one who climbed up on the roof to hang Christmas lights. And, you guessed it….I was the one who killed the bugs.
Why did I not care back then? Why did cleaning up cockroaches in the garage not bother me? Why did killing black widows in our backyard not make me nearly have a heart attack? Is this something that changes with age?
This was not that many years ago, people. Why am I SUCH a wimp now?
Does killing bugs not bother you? Did it use to bother you and now you don’t care? Or vice-versa?
In other news, I’ve changed my daily photo from Flickr to Picassa in google. The only bad thing is that it doesn’t tell me who’s looking at it, so I have no idea if anyone has even checked them out. (Or does it? Does anyone know how to see that information?). Leave a comment so I know what you think!