As I mentioned in my “About” page, I have a dreadful basement with webs in the rafters and concrete block walls, I hate it down there it hurts my eyes and scars my brain to look around. It also happens to be the place where I have created most of the fiction I’ve written in the last 3 years. With only 2 bedrooms the basement is a place where I can go to be alone…with the spiders. I keep trying to convince myself that my sad-sack writing space inspires me to visuals thing more beautiful, which only works until you’re imagination is breached by something walking up your pant leg.
Once while I was on the phone with Son #2 I noticed a spider scaling up the thigh of my jeans. Naturally, I screamed and beat it to death with the telephone receiver. It took me a minute to remember my son on the other end of the phone during the beating. Fortunately, he wasn’t concerned he just blandly asked “what the hell are you doing?” By his reaction you’d swear I was regularly irrational .
Today was my day to tackle the basement before we move. I cleaned boxes that had been stored and sucked up dust bunnies that size of house cats. By the time I quit I felt so filthy that I was sure I would never come clean, or feel clean ever again… ever. After I showered I felt my pore open and sing an opera…
Sometimes it seems easier to toss in dynamite and back blast, I don’t ever want to see the basement again.