Spiders, Cleaning, and Language

I am trying the scheduling feature here on WordPress for the first time, so I hope this comes out right.

Oh my goodness.  I have had a real tough time this last week or so, and now matters have been made worse.  I cannot stand spiders.  As in I am borderline arachnophobic, if not fully so.  For about the past week there has been a rather large spider that made a web, that I must admit does look kind of cool when I try to be as objective as possible, across my whole patio door.  I have not been out on the deck since the spider showed up because that sucker is way bigger than a quarter.  Now, it’s cousin has moved in on my front walk.  I have these brick post things that support the overhang on my front walk.  There are three of them spaced about three to four feet apart.  The cousin spider is even bigger than the one on my patio and has made a web between two of the posts.  It is full on Halloween horror movie style there.  And I did not see it until after I walked by it once.  I am NOT going out there again until that thing is gone.  There is not enough money in the world to get me to go anywhere near it again.

I hate cleaning my house.  It never fails.  I will get one area clean.  Then, I turn my back, and it is messy again.  Not just a little messy.  More like “Ma’am, I am sorry but we have to condemn your house for unsafe living conditions” messy.  Okay, maybe not quite that bad, but it feels pretty close.  Where does all this stuff come from?  And I swear, it multiplies in the dark.  Either that or, with all the rain we’ve had recently, it is operating on the Gremlins principle.  You know.  Do not get it wet or it multiplies.  I feel like what’s-his-face, the Greek guy pushing the boulder up hill – Sisyphus.  Only without the self-aggrandizing and deceitfulness.  I try to be nice.

It dawned on me today that I think I know part of why I love to write.  I know.  That sounds kind of odd.  Stick with me for a moment.  I was doing the single parent thing today as my hubby works twelve hour shifts all weekend.  So, by the time he gets home and gets to sleep, he does not have much more time than to wake up, get ready for work, and go back to work.  While he was sleeping I had my son and something hit me listening to him.  Language.  Hearing him develop his vocabulary has been very fascinating.  What words he picks up on.  Which ones he does not.  How he pronounces them.  It is so intriguing to me.  Even the complicated, pain-in-the-butt American English we have here can be so beautiful.  I think that is part of why I write.  To explore words and meanings and the language itself.