ARGH pestilence

This morning, I stepped on a cockroach.

I stepped on a cockroach in my kitchen.

There was a cockroach in my kitchen this morning, and I stepped on it.

It didn’t die.

I looked down, still not awake, thinking it was a piece of spinage I had dropped inadvertently the night before.  We both froze.  A strangled scream came out of my throat.  It was either an immediate shower or cutting off my foot, but I was too afraid to take off my clothes for fear I would find my entire body covered with baby roaches laying eggs in my hair and between my toes.  It laid there for a minute, then started squirming, waving its horrible legs.   I expected it to get up and rush me, so I taped it to the floor with duct tape.  I am so incredibly creeped out.  I cannot eat in my kitchen or throw away that roach.

When I moved in, I found one dead under the sink, but convinced myself it must be only left from a recent extermination project.  How silly.  I should have called immediately and let the landlord know.

I have never lived with roaches before and don’t know how they are!  One of the guys I work with has, however, and gave me a bunch of advice that creeped me out.  They like glue, damp spaces, but can’t get through silicon sealant or steel wool.  I must plug every hole, cracks in the floor, and pay particular attention to areas underneath sinks, both in the kitchen and the bathroom.  And they’re very hard to poison.

God!  I was just ruminating on how lovely it was to have my own space, free from the strange practices and unhygienic habits of others.  I just moved in!   I want my own place, dammit, free from pestilence.


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