Everything tends towards disorder. When mum and dad go away, this theory is proven with the physical state of my house.
My Little Spider.
Monday I came out to my car and there was a lovely little web spanning the side view mirror and antenna. A cute, small, inoffensive little spider had made his home on Peter Zach. I started the car, and must have given the spider such a start! He was jiggling all over his web like a mad man! He clung on for dear life as I drove, eventually finding refuge on the antenna. But that silly creature: he left his safety and crawled back to his web where he again clung for his mad, dear life! Eventually, he left his silliness behind him and made the frightening (but wise) descent down to the mirror itself. There he rested (and I think even started another web, having lost his first one in the buffeting winds) until I arrived at work. What an adventurous morning!
As I left him, I told him to be there when I got back. And when I got back, he was there, just as I told him to be when I left. He had made another lovely web, more lovely than the last. He proved himself a hasty learner and crawled straight to the mirror the instant Peter’s engine rolled over. Within minutes, he slid into safe recesses behind the mirror.
And there he remains. He comes out now and again to make a futile web, but I think he has mostly resigned himself to be a new kind of spider. Like dogs who prefer the wide open spaces, but become accustomed to the cities. This spider will eventually abandon the art of webbing, and use his lovely silk to lure the city insect merchants to his dark cold chamber where he will fool them in the dark and eat as a result of treachery and deceit. Actually, that is still much the same as his current trick of webbing…
I suppose, no matter how “cute, small, or inoffensive” little spiders can appear, they’re really just conniving small devils in the end.Today, According To My Stomach.
The day seemed to be churning out just fine. In the morning, The Stomach was treated to a homemade latte from The Mum (oh, how glad I am she’s home!). Breakfast didn’t arrive down the dark intestinal tunnel until closer to when The Stomach was expecting lunch, but breakfast can expect an acidic welcome any time of the day. (Do stomachs even have a concept of time? They have no clocks, except for The Crocodile,
and no light enters them, unless you consider a woman on a diet) But then, with one thirty-second phone call… the happy day was disrupted and The Stomach churned and jumped and flipped and sank and felt weak and nauseous. The Stomach was flipping out so much, The Heart even sped up with all the excitement. The Muscles couldn’t contain themselves: they quivered and jellied. And through it all, The Stomach remained firmly unsettled.
No, The Stomach and The Mind are not on good terms this afternoon.
