Irrational to the MAX

If I ever needed a reminder of how severe my arachnophobia is (which I don't, in case you were wondering), last night fit the bill. I don't know if I was comforted or dismayed that Laura's fear seems to mirror my own. Right down to the pitch of the scream. One spider would have been bad enough. One huge, brown, blend-into-the-woodwork-so-your-mom-whose-vision-is-shot-can't-see-him-to-kill-him spider. I was trying to hold a flashlight beam on him, but my hand was shaking so the light was bouncing anywhere but where it needed to be. And Laura is halfway across the room with her shorts balled in her fists hyperventilating. We had a nice good laugh about it. Then I walk into my room and there is another one perched on a poster behind my door. Another scream, and some obnoxious orders for my mom to get her butt back downstairs. And then a third one in my bathroom. Like I said, last night was special. Laura and I both had spider dreams waking us with a gasp this morning.

I wish I understood my phobia. It's not acceptable for an intelligent 25-year-old to be paralyzed in such a way, by something that I could easily crush under my foot. Not that I would, because then I would have to get close to it. Plus, the first spider last night might not have fit under my shoe. (My mom would argue that point, but she doesn't get to be part of the conversation because writing is a way to talk without being interrupted.) I hate feeling so overwhelmed and helpless. Fortunately, nights like last night happen rarely. I mean, to that degree. Me screaming at spiders is actually a relatively common occurrence. It's not uplifting to have your parents laughing at you, but if that's the price I pay for somebody else killing it, that's tolerable.

Here's hoping that I marry somebody who can crush the creepy-crawlies without too much dismay. And that my new house has few causes for the irrationality to come bursting through.