I am hoping if I stand by the door long enough, the fly which has been minutely examining the letters on the computer screen will come over so I can open the screen & “guide” him out. Not happening, so I’ve come back to type & thus line him up once more for a start-over.

Will it work?

I mean, I’ve lived here before. I know about the bugs; I’m in the Water District & below me is a volcanic stream of primordial ooze. You know what springs from primordial, right? All Life. And All Life starts with more legs on the body than I can see moving at one time.

Yesterday, a water-roach with a tattoo of Texas & a do-rag wrap crossed my 3.4′ living room floor, scuttled under the fridge & left me blinking. I was blinking, not at the tattoo, as one would think, but at the girlfriend he had under his leg … wing … body part.

I heard “Thriller”echo in the audio chamber of my head. As I was seated atop my bed, happy as a pasha in my seven cushions, I did not move. Patience pays off & about two minutes later, he scuttled back under my bed. Lovely.

He did not have his girlfriend with him.

I’m not moving the fridge, have nothing besides hair spray on hand & peppermint lotion & ignorance is the far better part of valor. It is said in the holy writings that Buddha never had any bugs or vermin near his presence. I rely on my existential holiness in cases like this. I picked up & finished my Craig Johnston book & carried on with my life.

This morning there was a legs-up quivering going on in what I laughinlgly call my dressing room. I picked up the handi-vac, blessed it to Heaven & scooped up the beastie, bringing it outside for disposal, My shoes are not big enough to disincorporate life from life-forms such as these.

I briefly thought about contacting Agatha Christie to cry “Murder Most Foul!” but she probably would have just blinked at me. I had no proof. He walked her in there Officer, I never saw her come out.

I told the handyman who then shared with me dark tales from when the Water Table Rises. I pretended aplomb & wondered how much they’re charging for pillows these days.

My place is porous, nothing much to do about it. It’s been resettling into primoridal mud since the adobe-layers smacked the last brick on & coated it. There have been many pipe stores, hole stories, cement-laying stories, using rocks to fill the rest of the holes stories. I rest my case, if not my slippers.

My fairest chance at overcoming this is actually reincarnating in another place, but I’ve already cooked lunch, just need to add the farmer’s market squash.