I blame the spider.

I recently conquered a spider.

It was a major victory, at least in my mind. There I was, bleary-eyed at 7:30 in the morning, pissed that I had to wake up for load-in (I know, I'm an ideal film student. I actually ATTENDED load-in that time!)

My alarm clock goes off. I sit up. I can't see anything because I am practically legally blind without my glasses or contacts. I grope for my glasses. I shove them on my face. I start to drag myself out of bed when...

SPIDER.

BIG, BLACK SPIDER.

ON THE WALL.

RIGHT NEXT TO MY HEAD.

I speed out of bed like a fucking speedy speedster and press myself against the far wall, breathing heavily. I eye the spider like it's some sort of alien parasite that's about to latch itself to my face (and now I have that image in my head and it won't go away and I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight, am I?) It completely disregards me and scuttles along my wall.

Okay, I think. Caitlin. You are a humanitarian. You're from fucking Takoma Park, Maryland, for god's sake. You do not need to kill this spider. Perhaps you and the spider could co-exist?

The spider makes a sudden move. I jump about a foot. It is obvious that there will be no co-existing here. Still, I figure that I don't have to kill the spider! I considered trying to reason with it, but then I remembered that it was a spider and that weird thought was probably just 7:30 in the morning talking. I reconsidered.

All I have to do is get the spider out of my room! I realized in a brilliant stroke of genius. That's all! So what do I need? Some sort of cup? And paper? Book? Something?

I grab a piece of printer paper and the cap from my laundry detergent and set about chasing the spider around my room on my hands and knees. Please keep in mind that, at this time, I am still wearing my pajamas. Now, unlike girls in all movies and TV shows ever, I do not wear sexy pajamas. I do not own sexy pajamas. The pajamas that I am wearing during all of this consist of a baggy white t-shirt with a big picture of the cartoon character Tintin on it (which I've had since I was eight or nine, when I had a big crush on Tintin), and a pair of vast, tomato-red pajama bottoms. I am also sporting incredible birds-nest-hair, which I always have when I wake up (seriously, it achieves a life of its own. I have very little control over my hair.), and my glasses are askew.

I am super-attractive.

In my travails, I finally realize that the paper isn't stiff enough--it wasn't working. Whenever the spider scuttles onto it, the paper bends, the spider scurries off again, and I leap backwards a foot, sort of frantically brushing at myself and whimpering quietly. I've also kind of accidentally maimed it with the detergent cup. Oopsie.

So, humanitarian that I am, I decide to put it out of it's misery the way that any normal person would: with a shoe. Unfortunately, I am too much of a chicken to get all up-close-and-personal with my spider-murder, so I stand a the other side of the room and throw my sneaker at the spider. I'm not sure if it actually worked and killed it, or if the spider just passed out from its previous wounds, because it stopped moving.

I'll...clean that up later, I think. I then get dressed and go to Louis.

But. BUT. When I got back a couple of hours later, the SPIDER WAS GONE. I DON'T KNOW WHERE IT WENT. I hope it crawled off and died somewhere, but WHERE WOULD IT GO? My room isn't that large. I can't find it! I just know that I am either going to be killed in my sleep by a pain-enraged arachnid, or by its vengeful family.

This isn't going to end well.