I'm sleeping upstairs

I was completely ready to fall asleep.

I mean, it wasn't a long day, and it's not like I did anything stressful, but by the time  my face was washed and my pajamas were on I was ready to hit the sack.

But then, just as I went to switch off the lamp, I saw it.

The big, nasty, creepy-crawly spider.

There it sat in all it's eight legged glory, pausing in its journey up my bedroom wall.

I know what they say, I've heard it all a thousand times. "The spider is just as afraid of you as you are of it." Right. I don't care. I may be a good 1000 times bigger than that thing, but it's the one that will be biting me, not the other way around. I'm not going to go crawling all over it in its sleep, I'm not going to lay a million creepy eight-legged babies in its bed. Let's face it, the spider has the upper hand.

So I began strategizing.

I quickly drank the remaining gatorade from the bottle next to my bed and grabbed something heavy to keep the bottle down once I'd captured the intruder.

I drew a mental map guiding me to the spider-killer-spray, and, after computing the time it would take me to get there and back again, figured how far our friend could travel in my absence.

And, in desperation, I pleaded silently for some kind person to wake up and wander down to the guest room where I am currently residing (you try making it up a flight of stairs with crutches) and take pity on my poor soul.

Finally, the brilliance struck me: My crutches.

All I had to do was stand back and stab the offender with my crutch. Brilliant. I even decided that I would tape a tissue over the spider's dead body so I wouldn't have to look at it there on my wall until morning when I would bribe some brave soul to dispose of the evidence.

The issue: It turns out I am too chicken to stab a spider even with four feet of weapon between us.

And, when I finally got up the courage, I missed. The spider fell to the floor and began to scurry. I screamed.

Then, after hiding out in the shadows of my bed-side table, it made its way back to the wall. I screamed again. Probably not necessary this time?

Eventually, my worst fear was realized. Our tricky little friend made his way behind my bed, staying along the floor board the whole trip.

I was doomed.

I had to squat low, hold the crutch in firing positing, and aim to kill.

So I did just that.

Adrenaline rushing, heart pounding, breathing stopped, I aimed all of my energy toward the thrusting of the crutch.

You had better believe I hit that spider. The only issue was that I happened to hit it right as it reached the inward curve of the floor board.

Mission not accomplished.

I waited a good ten minutes, squatting beside my bed, legs beginning to tingle, waiting to see if the spider moved.

Which it did.

But this time seeing its creepy little legs scuttling along did not ignite the need for battle, or to kill. Instead I felt nothing but pure annoyance flood my emotions, and, feeling dejected, I did what any rational spider-fearing person would do: I gathered up those belongings vital to sleep and headed upstairs.

Spider: 1
Sadie: 0

Don't worry, I documented the process.