Arachnophobia, Second Avènement

So I returned to town yesterday evening and from the moment I entered my apartment I kept an EAGLE eye peeled on every crevice, dark corner, window sill, OPEN FLOOR SPACE, and doorway corner for Spidey in case he'd made a reappearance during my absence...

And, like Jaws, just when I least expected it...

*BAM!!*

I'd relaxed somewhat after an uneventful evening at home and departure and return from boot camp this morning without so much as a stray web strand crossing my path...

I get home after boot camp this morning, shower, change, gather my things, head out my front door and down the front stairs to the front door of my apartment building this morning and see something "tumbling" across the foyer/vestibule out of my peripheral and, thinking it was the usual outdoor leafy riff-raff that blows in when the main door's left open, I dismissed it for the split second it took to process the fact that it didn't just *floof* and stop...

IT KEPT COMING!!

To see me tripping/two-stepping/tap-dancing trying to get past/over him, whacking the hell out of my elbow when I hit the door trying to shove it open as I fell through it, HAD to be entertaining for the neighbors... 

And yes. It was Spidey. I'm sure of it. It was the "MOM" tattoo that gave him away. ;)

Arachnophobia

Few things in my universe scare me the way a spider can.  Baby spiders, not so much - I've learned to handle them & throw them out w/out losing my mind or control of my bodily functions...

But large spiders...  anything over head-of-a-pin-size, really...  send me reeling.  And screaming.

Today was no exception... 

Today I send a BIG shout out to the GINORMOUS SPIDER who made me later than I already was for work this morning and who then sat trapped for most of the day - after skittering MADLY about in the darkness under my bed while I pole-vaulted from side to side on hands and knees trying to trap him - under a hi-ball glass at the foot of my bed. 

And just to flesh out the morning's horror and excitement for you, it all started when I walked into my bedroom to dress and was momentarily frozen as I saw him GALLOPING hell for leather across my BEDROOM floor... 

ONLY to disappear UNDER MY BED! 

Now, I don't mind rodents, I don't mind reptiles, I don't mind any manner of small, furry, fanged mammals...

Spiders, however... 

Well, let's just say the thoughts that flit rapid-fire through my mind as I watched him scuttle under the edge of my dust ruffle as to what might happen in the dark of night while I slept if I just left him to his own devices in whatever lair he created for himself under my bed has given me chills as I type this and think of him. 

MEH!! ::shudder:: 

Now, I have to laugh at what I must've looked like trying to trap him, and I SERIOUSLY debated the merits of just leaving him to find his own way home rather than sucking it up and trapping him...

for about .2 of a second...! 

But then my mother's 'boogey-man' teachings from childhood took over, my irrational fear of spiders went off the chart, and my brain ran amok with the possibilities open to him while I slept! 

Side note:  Someone posted a pic of a MONSTROUS spider sitting on top of a t.p. roll with the quote "Where is your god now?!" on Jason Hawes (The Atlantic Paranormal Society co-founder and Ghost Hunters star) wall this a.m. and I just had to laugh because that's exactly what I thought one person who posted on my spider story today was going to say after he wrote that it would be hilarious if "...he done flipped the glass, washed it & left a note saying...". 

Yeauh.  That shit's not funny.  ::deadpanlook:: 

Anyway, my mama always taught me not to kill bugs/spiders because "they're just doing their spider/bug business and trying to get home to their little spider/bug families" - yes, this is the same woman who unwittingly fueled my childhood boogey-man fears with stories of her own... but there ya go - AND... I have that whole Christian/Buddhist-y thing about "God made him for a purpose/it's not up to me to decide when he dies" thing in my head too...  but the bad thing is...I truly think spider/bug squashing is a genetic thing built into us all because I WANT to squish 'em & be done. 

So the spider saga continued when I went home for lunch...  I checked on him first...  fully expecting to see him gone - I know, doesn't make sense but fear often doesn't - and there he is, sitting in an upright pose that gave me palpitations thinking at first that he was in that legs-up-scary-spider-ready-to-strike pose... 

Nope... he's just sittin' laaaarge...

Just siiiitin' and looking at me.  Still as a statue.

SO.  Knowing FULL well I'll go utterly screeching-howler-monkey-chittering-insane if I put a piece of paper under the glass and in the course of picking him up, it bends & he manages to dart out a crack and up my arm, I get one of my son's graduation cards off the pile on the piano - yes, testing each one for stiffness factor AND thinness for maximum "seal-age" - I go back in, slide it gingerly under the edge of the glass and, not wanting to break his little spider legs as I put it all the way under, I ease it towards him, wiggling it back & forth to startle him into running onto it.

He just sits there.  Looking at me.  Still as a statue.

Dammit.

I'm determined, though, and a few gut-wrenching minutes later - bowels now turned to water from sheer fright - I finally find the right wiggle combo & he runs onto the card and ROUND AND ROUND the glass like one of those trick motorcycle people in the round metal cages...

And as he's running his circuit he does a new trick...  he HOPS a couple of times to add to my terror! 

JesusMaryandJoseph, I almost hyperventilated! 

He finally comes to a rest, I get myself under control, get him up and into the kitchen to put him out the back door...  and I realize I have to stop and put him down to unlock the deadbolt. 

Dammitdammitdammit!

And what's he do??  EVERY single movement I make, HE goes zipping around the card and glass like he's on crack...  and NOW I'm ready to throw up.

I get the back door unlocked, pick him back up, sending him into renewed laps, and I get out the back door...

Only to find, the neighbor's cat.  Their really friendly cat.  SO friendly I know I can't let the spider go until I love on him and then shoo him away so he won't wind around me 'til I trip and drop the spider on myself or jolt the glass so the spider runs OUT onto me... 

Either of which surely would've necessitated my son calling the mortuary when he got home and found me stiff and blue on the back deck...

Or...  

If I manage to maintain control of the spider, he'll pounce on it and eat it when I let it go.  And then adrenaline would make me kill the cat.

SO.

I put the spider down as far from my back door as possible - which is a space of about 2 feet because I'm on a second floor deck - I loooove the cat, scratch the cat, strooooke the cat...

Then shoohimawaypickuptheglassandrunawayfastasIcan!! 

Yes, I can only go about a foot, but still...

He just sits there on the card.  Looking at me. Still as a statue.

DAMMIT!!

Ok, I have to get back to work and I can't leave my son's graduation card out there with showers in the forecast, so NOW I'm done with this little bastard!!

I stomp and wave my hands towards him and he...

FREAKIN' CHARGES ME!!!!

Blood curdling scream would not be too strong a description... 

AND I ranawayasfastasIcould...!!

Yes, the whole remaining foot to my door...

And as I look back and realize he's gaining astro-turf on me, I come to the realization at the exact same moment that there IS nowhere for me to go without having to step/jump OVER him...

Which my irrationally INSANE fear will not allow me to do!! 

AT this point, fortunately, the spider saga became anti-climactic or I might have hurled myself over the railing of the deck to certain disaster...

Thankfully, he stopped.  Right at the edge of the door mat I was standing on.

Shaking and exhausted, but STILL totally done with this crap, I stomp again, praying he doesn't come up ONto the mat, which he doesn't, and as I watch him run towards the little dark crevice beside the wall where my grill is butted up against and my outdoor chairs are stacked I figure it's all good because I won't use THOSE things again until next year after he's LONG since frozen to death and I can sweep his dried up little husk of a body off with the winter's accumulated dirt.

For good measure, though, I go inside and close and latch my dining room window so he doesn't try to gain re-entry since it's just over the railing the grill and chairs are lined up alongside... 

And now...

As I sit here typing and thinking...

It hits me...  

And I just pray to all that's holy he doesn't crawl back in through the bathroom window further down that wall that I forgot to close.

Study Hell, Part II

Nope.  Haven't done 2 a day chapters.

Didn't make the whole 10 days without alcy, either.

The problem with the studying...  I'm old.  And I never excelled in science or physiology.  And there's a LOT of both.  I am going through each chapter at least twice a day.  Not the same though, huh? 

Also is the problem that, despite outside appearances, OCD, control freak-ism, and general never-say-uncle philosophy, the reality is I'm doing 2 a day 1 hour each bootcamps that kick my ass, I'm working 8 hours a day, I come home, eat, shower and go to bed...  and the weekend is spent going through the chapters and/or watching movies because I'm just too damned tired to shower and leave the house!  LOL

Oh.

And the alcy?

THAT was interesting.

So I went Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday - no alcohol, noooo problem.  Felt good, too...  kind of slept in, in a good way, not a drank-too-much-don't-wake-up kind of way, on Saturday & Sunday, was productive, got to boot camp Monday morning and kept up with the fastest guy in the group (HooAHHH!!), worked all day, went to boot camp in the evening and kept up with and PASSED the fastest guy (and younger than me by more than a decade!! HOOAHHH!!!) in that group...  it was, honestly, pretty great and quite an eye-opener since I tend to think even when I've over-done it that I can just "suck it up" and dig in and still maintain the level I might if I were well rested.

Now I know I've been TOTALLY bullshitting myself.

Tuesday, I and the deputies from work I ride bikes with on the greenway were supposed to ride and then go to Village Grill for dinner and a beer.  Huh-huh.  A beer.  Anyway,  I just hadn't been "feeling" it all day - I was, admittedly, fatigued from the 200 push ups, 200 squats and 20 runs up and down the hill we did on top of killer "Insanity" warm-up at the boot camp sessions I was kicking ass at the day before.  When I pulled in to the lot where we met, I rolled down the window and jokingly suggested, "I have a plan.  IIIII'LL go get a table at Village Grill, ya'll come when you're done!!".  They weren't buying what I was sorta...  well...  actually, selling...  so we got ready for the ride, got helmeted, sun-glassed, etc., mounted up...

And Ronnie says, "So before we get a couple of miles up the road and change our minds, do we really want to do this or do we just want to go drink beer?"

Guess what we did.  (No, no question mark.)

I had 4 Star Hill pumpkin drafts. 

And I felt like undiluted ASS this morning.

And it tore up my stomach.

WTH?!

I'm a professional.  I've been doing this my whole life.

7 days of clean eating, which I already do 6 days a week, combined with no alcohol and suddenly I'm a lightweight??

Holy crap.  ::sigh::

So yes, in conjuction with my renewed determination to continue to plug away at learning all the muscle groups, blood flow and heart rate formulas, ATP and ADP processes, etc., I do have an eye on maybe not drinking.  Possibly at all.

Ok, well maybe on special occasions... 

And maybe one or two on Friday's.... 

But really, that's it.  =D

Because suddenly, in 7 days, my universe has been totally dumped on its head and I'm too damned tired to fight it or prove myself wrong.  ;)

Hey Baby, what's your sign...? ;)

This is gonna ramble off course a little so bear with me and read on...

Ok.  So I'm meandering through the Daleville Kroger this afternoon.  I'm standing at an end-cap looking at some little plastic jugs of minty gum when a cart smacks into mine from the side.  I turn to look over my shoulder and a man is standing there looking at me and grinning.

Now a handful of things roll through my head all at the same instant... 

Was I in the way?

Was it just an accident?

He's balding.

His ring of hair is kind of Don-King-ish.

He's not saying anything.

He has a bruised lip.

He's grinning like a brain-dead monkey.

He has dip in his teeth.

And on the corners of his mouth.

Ew.

His clothes look like he just rolled out of bed.

Why is he just standing there looking at me?

He's a little wild-eyed.  (Have you figured out yet that I am a complete dumbass and would be utterly clueless if I were in actual danger?)

Why is he just standing there looking at me and grinning?

Do I know him?

Did I go to school with him?

He looks older than me.

Maybe he's just had a hard life?

Why is he not saying anything?

And then he spoke.

"I'm sorry."  He goes back to grinning.  And staring.

So I'm back to...

Do I know him?

But the next instant he spoke again...  I'm thinking I'll hear "Hey, remember me...  I'm so-and-so...". 

Nope.  Coulda knocked me over with a feather at what came next.

"I just had to do that because...  You.  Are.  Beautiful."

Returns to grinning.  And staring.  And says nothing else.

Ok.  Now every girl would love to hear that from a stranger, for sure.  And certainly in that rom-com movie-plot way...  I've never had either happen in any context, so I'd love it, for sure, too...

But I was still stuck on the bruised lip and dip-y teeth & mouth corners...

And frankly, I was creeped out.

Seriously, I don't feel at all shallow when I say, it would be far less creepy coming from, say, someone with clean teeth.  Who actually followed that gambit with conversation of some sort.  Or from someone without a bruised lip (tried the cart bump on some other, less polite woman, perhaps?!).  Or maybe with clean clothes.  I don't know, call me crazy...  I don't give a damn whether you're handsome or not, my hang ups are grooming and clean teeth.  You can look like Jabba the Hut and as long as you're intelligent and/or funny (which would require flashing the aforementioned follow-up convo), brush your teeth and groom yourself, you're golden.

I tossed a quick politician-pressing-the-flesh "Thank you" over my shoulder as I turned back to the gum, hoping he'd take the hint and move along.

Now, this is where I'm gonna ramble, but stick with me, it'll "co-hese"...

10 years ago today, Navy was underway on, I think it was, a six month deployment with the USN in the Pacific ocean.  We'd been back in touch for about 2 years after about a 15 year 'break' and we emailed regularly.  I was working for a large law firm in downtown Roanoke and hadn't been at work for more than 20 minutes when the receptionist said a plane had struck one of the towers of the World Trade Center.  I went into the conference room to turn on the T.V. - happy as a school kid hearing the fire-drill bell for a plausible excuse to avoid victim/witness interviews - and listened as Katie Couric was reporting the first plane striking the first Trade Center tower.  The air around me changed in an instant when the second airplane hit the second tower and it dawned on me this wasn't an accident...

My first tangled, utterly chaotic, whirling thoughts were primarily of the implications...  attack...  war...  and then the military...  war...  attack...  they would be scrambled...  we would be at war...

I went straight to my computer and emailed Navy.  We were about 8 hours different time-wise and I knew he was always on the computer about the time I settled into work because we'd have email convo most days until about my lunch-time/his bed-time...  I told him a plane had crashed into the Trade Center in NY.  I told him the second one had as well.  I emailed each detail as it came available.  USN intel hadn't even gotten the news to them yet.  He told the ship's XO (executive officer) who told the CO (commanding officer).  And as I fed information to him via email, he relayed it to those two officers who ultimately relayed it by broadcast to all the sailors on that ship.  It was a touch stone of sorts for me in the midst of that chaos and tragedy.  I don't know what it was for him, "alone" on that ship with 5000 of his closest "friends" and thousands of miles from everyone and everything he knew and loved...  I just know I felt sort of a sense of duty to be on the other end for him and by extension for that ship.  Somehow I felt like I was helping.  Being there.  Being strong for him, giving him information for them.

Shortly thereafter, his ship was re-routed to the Arabian Sea off the coast of Pakistan and he (all ships) essentially went off-grid with fluctuating cuts in what I guess was non-essential communications.  With reports of ships firing missiles and striking targets inland, squabbles over Pakistan airspace, etc., it was horrible not knowing where he was, what was happening, or whether his ship was involved...  it was an agonizing day, week, month, year...  but like all things, with time it faded from daily memory and things essentially returned to normal.

Over the last 10 years this day has been our link...  it's been special to both of us in a sacred kind of way...  hallowed...  shared whereever we've been, together or apart...  and once we were together, it never ocurred to me there'd come a day we wouldn't share it intimately.  Last year, though, when we were apart again and I got the text that began, "On this day, 9 years ago...", it was kind of just another day...  I'd had 8 months to heal after our break-down and although it was a good feeling inside to know it still held meaning to him, it was ok...

This year, though...  somehow this year is very, very different...  last night I got the text...  he's been thinking about that day and me for days...  wondering if there was a way we'd share it without upsetting anyone...  together or apart... 

For me it doesn't matter, I have no one to be upset if we share the memory...  he, however, having gone straight from the USN to living with his folks, to living with me, to living with the next girl, to now living with the mother of his recently revealed 21 year old daughter...  he has someone to upset...

Somehow, this year, it's very, very different...  somehow, this year, it's very emotional.

And I found myself wondering last night and this morning why 10 years was any more significant or magical...  for us...  for anyone...  why do we think we feel it more keenly?  Why do he and I feel the urge to share this anniversary personally...  why is 10 any harder or more significant that 9 years or 12 years?

It's moot, I guess...  whatever the reason, I've done nothing but cry at the slightest mention of 9/11/01 and anything associated with it or us...  I've cried as much in the last 24 hours as I did a couple of months ago when I lost someone I thought I'd finally found that one true relationship with.

Now here's where we're going to zag...

2 years ago when my relationship with Navy sank, I was devastated and nearly non-functional.  I spent nights and weekends crying on my sofa, and during the day I did my crying in the bathroom at work.  I couldn't eat, didn't care to, and didn't bother even pretending to be hungry.  A grey air like Pig Pen's dirt cloud hung over me.

After a couple of weeks everything in the fridge was past the point of being edible and when I couldn't put off hitting the grocery store a moment longer, I went to the Kroger on Main Street in Salem and wandered the aisles for easily 45 minutes, cart empty, picking up things & putting them back, tears flowing randomly at a family shopping together, a sappy card in the rack, a wedding magazine with a picture perfect bride on the front...  eyes puffy, nose snotty...

I round an end-cap and pass a man pushing a cart...

And he grins at me.   (What is it with end-caps?  Is that the "lurker lair"?)

Not a pleasant half-smile we give strangers to say "good day", either...  he grins.  Teeth.

Now I know I looked like I'd been sick with the plague - hair stringy and disheveled, crappy old over-sized tee-shirt on, cut-off sweat pant shorts, horribly puffy eyes, dark circles, nose snuffly from non-stop crying... 

And I think to myself, "Self, he MUST just be being polite...  I had to've imagined the "interested" look..."

So I looked back...

And the man is standing there, dead in the middle of the aisle, not moving, watching me walk away... 

And as I turn and our eyes catch, he grins even bigger than the first time.

WTH?!!

I still knew that in my warmed-over-death state of appearance, he HAD to be just being nice...  so I went on about my business... 

But then I passed him twice more in other parts of the store...  and both times it was unmistakeable...  the interested smile...  that slightly lascivious Joey-Tribiani "Hey, how YOU doin'?" air...

I was stupified. 

And all I could figure was maybe he was desperate...  or legally blind...  or had cataracts... 

Which brings us full circle to Daleville Kroger guy...

I tossed my politician-pressing-the-flesh thanks and looked away, intent on those thought-provoking little barrels of gum...

In my peripheral, I saw him move away so I put back the gum barrel I was studying and turned to go... 

And just about fell over when I realized he'd just as quickly moved back...

Stare...  grin...  "I can't help it, I'ma be useless the rest of the day..."

I stood, staring back at his wild-eyed, smiling face, knowing what a trainwreck I looked like with my puffy eyes, dark circles, mascara streaks, snotty nose, and general sad air from the 9/11 text I got from Navy just before I walked in the store...

And I said thank you again.  Genuinely this time.

And then I hauled ass.  ;)

The moral of the story?  Hell, I don't know if I even managed to link all three of these shorts together for you so you can understand the way they mesh in my head, much less came down to the moral of the story...  but I will say my personal upset is the thread that ties all three... 

And I think the natural conclusion here is that in my universe, puffy eyes, mascara tracks, snuffly, snotty nose and a general Eeyore air about me drives men wild.

Study Hell... I mean... Hall... Study Hall...

Oy vey!

After everything dropped in to place & to cohesiveness in my mind week before last, I know the Ode will likely be a 3-parter and I have a "To be continued, Part II" to get to...  soon...

But in the meantime, I have to interrupt with some old skool bitching.

Every day for forever, I've hit the gym after work for a class or two.  Every day.  With the exception of Fridays, my weekdays are "Groundhog Day"...  get up, shower, dress, go to work, eat, work, eat lunch, work, leave work, go to the gym, come home, shower, eat, watch DVR, go to bed, get up...  lather, rinse aaaaand repeat.

So when a friend suggested Boot Camp Challenge to me in April, I thought I'd give it a shot.  6 weeks, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, 5:30 a.m. at the local Catholic school, 1 hour kick-yer-ass workouts and lots of sweat.  Done.  11 pounds, numerous inches, and 8.25% body fat lost.

When I finished my 3rd 6-week boot camp, I decided maybe I should make money doing this rather than continuing to hemorrhage money I could put to better use.

And now...  I'm studying.

First the personal trainer certification is needed.  Hundreds of dollars to sit through 14 lectures, practices, instructor conference, review, and EXAM.

Then the Boot Camp Challenge certification will be needed.  Hundreds more dollars.  More learning, more studying, more practices, more EXAM.

My question?

What the hell was I thinking?!  It's been 15 years since I was in a college class room!  Since I sat through lectures, took notes, soaked in what I could and studied what I couldn't remember.  And I was NEVER a very great student to begin with in lower school!  Holy crap, dedication is not my forte and "classes you can take on line at your leisure" may NOT have been the wisest choice...

Proof in the pudding?  It's taken me almost 2 weeks to flog myself through the 1st lecture.

Jesus.

BUT...

I do not like to say "Uncle"...  aaaaand, knowing some of the local gym instructors who've passed it I KNOW that I can certainly pass it...

So...  it's back to the copious notes and the lectures...  and a renewed dedication now that the long holiday weekend excuse is gone and over...  I can do 2 a day, I know I can...

Did I mention I've also gone on a 10 day cleanse concentrating on nothing but lots of healthy food, a super healthy shake/meal replacement once a day...  and no alcohol?

Did I mention I don't know what the hell I was thinking doing that, either?!

::sigh::

This shit better be worth it.