Revenge of the Sssrrriitthh

ugh. There is no other way to begin or end this post. I know I've been fairly discreet about it so far so it may come as a surprise to you that I've been having what is politey termed 'a roach problem' these last few weeks. I meant to blog about it in detail last sunday but the newspaper guy came and diverted all my disgust and anger towards an equally creepy recipient a mere four legs short of roachdom. Anyways, so I finally had enough of hotfooting it into and out of the loo every time with my hair standing on end, taking the quickest tinkles in the history of...whatever (I'm surprised I didn't shoot into space on impact or something), and decided, in true Truman style, to "give the bastards all we've got!" So I sprayed them with this deadly little roach-killer spray (though I'm sure half the ingredients would also be found in my cigarette ... but there you go, self-hate is never easy). And then for the next two days I couldn't stop thinking of all the stuff in that thing that I released onto this poor, beleaguered planet of mine, and which I know, with my usual paranoid flair for uncannily accurate prediction, is going to come back and bite me in the ... well, lets say substantial areas of this 'too too weary flesh'. Also, getting to watch the death rattle of one of my poor victims at close quarters is not exactly guaranteed to give me sweet-dreams now, is it? Suffice to say, the excruciating agony conveyed by the skeletal writhing hexaped tends to jump onto my mental screen at unexpected and innoportune moments, and this consant gatecrashing of the out-of-control party that is my mind is beginning to get on my nerves. Oh, there it is again. Excuse me while I go jump off the balcony.
ugh. (like I said...)