Jiminy

It was late. I had been in pajamas all day, studying and intermittantly wondering in despair if I was going to fail, and then being completely unconcerned at the thought that I might. I'd also been considering the advantages and disadvantages of using caffeine to keep myself awake--but that's a story for another time.

I'd decided to go to bed. Teeth brushed, fingers run through hair, face scrubbed. I've got my routine, you know, and I like it--mindless and relaxing. Sometimes I'll look down and noticed with pleased surprise that I've just trimmed my nails. When I get into the going-to-bed routine, things just happen, and I accept them thankfully.

Anyway, I digress. I'd just hung the towel back up on the rack when, suddenly, all hell broke loose above my head. It was something like what I imagine would happen if you turned a fleet of baboons loose in an elephant cage--a lot of thundering back and forth, high-pitched shrieking, things hitting walls. When Alex began to scream, I dashed towards the stairs, thinking, "Gotta be a cricket."

We don't do much unnecessary housekeeping, here. There are too many things to study--at least, it's a wonderful excuse. So the tiny little spiders that live in corners and around doorways have been hanging out and getting frisky, if you know what I mean--proliferating, replicating, reproducing, multiplying. Whatever makes you happy. It is a well-known fact that crickets eat little spiders (and when I say that, I mean that I made it up and thought it sounded good. Making the hypothesis fit the evidence). And so, as the spider population has exponentially multiplied, so have the crickets. I do kill them whenever I find them--bugs in general do not bother me (reference the spiders) but they sing at night and it irritates me. If one ever breaks into song and dance in my bedroom while I'm trying to sleep, I'm going to get all cytotoxic T-cell on his thorax. Anway. I digress again. When I last left off, I was dashing up the stairs, realizing that those screaming voices were all calling my name.

I pop through the door and, sure enough, mayhem. Steph is wildly waving a textbook as she jumps and screams, Alex is shouting at her to put it down because he paid for it and a $200 book is not for smashing insects, and Danielle is running back and forth, yelling something incomprehensible. Utter chaos.

I smashed the cricket. Took maybe four seconds.

Peace restored. I went to bed.

Yep. Swag.

(Swag being a term Steph keeps using. I don't actually know what it means, but I think it's somewhere around pretty awesome? Before living with Becca, and then in this house, I would never have thought that the ability to rid the world of a 2 cm bug constituted being "swag", but apparently it's a rare commodity. *Shrugs.* I do what I do.)