Last night I was brushing my teeth to go to bed at 2:20 (don't even get me started) - bleary-eyed and exhausted from doing nothing for three hours. I was reading and brushing when I noticed a flicker of movement on the wall and saw a hale and hearty cockroach nonchalantly strolling up by the shower. I just watched it for a minute, transfixed, and then banged the wall. It skittered away into a small crevice between the plastic shower unit and the wall. I was horrified. Should I buy those cockroach things that probably don't work? Should I put duct tape over the gap from which it came? I felt guilt about that idea, and imagined my horror when I would discover that the bastard had chewed through the tape or peeled it back with its devilish pincers.
I went to bed thoroughly skeeved out. Lying there I thought about cockroaches and their nighttime journeys and imagined them nearby until I could feel the psychosomatic pin-pricks along my legs and back - my head conjuring up ghostly bugs to brush my skin and turn me to dust. When I woke up this morning I felt unsettled, and my first coherent thought of the day, honestly, was:
What do I have to feel guilty about?
Ah, yes. The cockroach. As if this were some personal fault of mine. I think I am losing my mind.