It's two minutes past midnight, so I guess this counts as Thursday even though it doesn't feel like it.
What a THRILLING milestone—the beginning of a BRAND-NEW DAY! And a lot has happened since my last entry.
Long story short: I'm sitting on the sidewalk under a flickering streetlight, surrounded up to the height of my tits by an ocean of spiders that want to eat my face. And my legs. And probably the rest of me, too.
You know, it's one thing to see them from my bathroom window, but it's a completely different thing to have them right in front of me. Each spider looks to be about the size of my palm—they're all jet black, by the way—but there are so many crawling over each other that all I can see is a writhing wall of black all around me.
This streetlight, weak as it is, is doing its best Moses impression—but only in a circular radius around itself, obviously, which is why I'm stuck here. Some of the spiders at the top keep falling (or jumping?) off the pile, trying to get me, but the light turns them to smoke before they can reach me.
Oh, actually, since they turn into smoke, isn't it possible that if enough of them jumped on me at the same time, the smoke from the first ones would shield the rest just long enough for one of them to bite me?
Welp. Guess I'll die then.
Anyway, I've got time to burn, since I'm not about to fall asleep here. It's cold. I thought its supposed to be summer. My phone is dead, so I can't call work to let them know I'm going to be tired as fuck tomorrow and they should find a replacement. I can't call the cops, either. Or play any mobile games.
Oh, and the whispers are back. Not from underground, this time. They're coming from the spiders. Yes, the lovely spideys all around that are clamoring to murder me. Me is the lucky gal they hit on.
Since I'm bored, here is the long story long:
I found Holly literally just as I left the bathroom stall. She was waiting for me, leaning on a sink, doing her makeup. She didn't go home with that homeless-looking guy—Lely did, though, after stealing him from her. Said she wanted the man for himself because he had that "wild and free dumpster diving rizz".
I don't think that's a thing, but with any luck, he'll dive into her snatch and never come back up for air.
So, I had another round of drinks at the bar with Holly. Unfortunately, my blood-alcohol level was already on the decline, so the evening dragged its feet like an underage floozy.
A trio of thirty-year-olds at the bar bought Holly and I a bottle of white wine. It was delivered by a waiter, before the baldest of that trio swaggered over and greeted us with a, "How do you do?"—like we were extras in some black-and-white movie.
On the subject of black-and-white movies, I actually always preferred the quiet ones. I've discovered that holds true for guys at the bar, too—but I wasn't so lucky tonight. Woe is me—the whole trio then came over to talk to us.
'Apologies, but we need some companions to share the bottle with,' Baldy said, I think, talking mostly to Holly. I guess she's prettier. Or maybe it's cause she was dressed all slutty.
Then Baldy's two friends barged into my personal space, each clutching a red plastic cup like they didn't see me staring murder at them.
You know, getting harassed by drunk men who can't afford deodorant isn't exactly my favorite way to spend the evening before a workday. Sometimes I genuinely feel like God should descend from the clouds, thank me for my patience, and personally canonize me on the spot. Because as I live and breathe—faced with those two—I let my hotel receptionist instincts, carefully honed over many years, kick in, and I smiled at them like the dumb blonde that my dear friend Holly sometimes is. And I just kept doing that—kept smiling and imagining myself standing beside Jesus—until twenty minutes later, when I couldn't take it anymore.
Then I gave Holly The Look™. Preoccupied as she was, giggling with Baldy, she missed it completely.
So, I shoved away guy #1, grabbed her wrist, and squealed, 'Bathroom Emergency! Code Red!' like it was my first time bleeding and she was my mom.
Two minutes later, we were out the side exit and finally on the way to McDonald's.
Past the streetlights and LED strips on the sidewalks, there were spiders already flooding out of the gutters. Doubtless looking to invest in Guy #2's crypto-based loyalty program startup.
I hope they eat his face.
***
But anyway, that was my night so far. Nothing particularly exciting happened at McDonald's—though Holly did try to McFlirt with the cashier until she realized he was seventeen. I'd have thought the pimples would've given it away, but I guess she's just that desperate. At least she didn't go full pedo.
But then, after a couple of sob stories about how she can't find a husband and I'm so lucky to have had John, even though he literally died, a couple of streetlights went out on my way home, and I got stuck under the only one that didn't.
Damnit, but these whispers in the back of my head? They're definitely getting louder now.
And I think I can rule out alcohol—I'm sober. Completely sober … and bored.
I wonder if that's the cause.
I don't think so.
***
Well, another five minutes have passed. Or something like that. I can't check, honestly, my phone is dead. This black writhing wall of spiders all around me sure is impenetrable. It's like I'm trapped in the bubble of air in a spoon put in water.
Okay, so maybe that was a terrible metaphor—but fuck, I'm sleepy. The voices are loud, but they can't seem to keep me awake. I blame my meds.
And all these spiders just keep crawling, over each other, all around each other. A mess of legs and eyes like black paint. One or two still fall (or jump?) from the top every few seconds, only to go up in a puff of smoke before they hit me. Because I am a champion, and they can't bear to exist in my presence. But they don't stop trying.
***
2 minutes later.
I think the spiders are tracing my finger.
I'm bored out of my mind, and I was just looking at my manicure—you know, just absently waving my hand a little—and I actually swear, a good tenth of the total mass of spiders in the general direction in front of me shifted with it. Not toward me, they didn't try to kill me any harder than before. They just… mirrored the movement of my hand.
Oh, waw. They're still doing it.
Okay, so, naturally, I kept going. I'm wiggling my fingers now—and the wall of spiders is following suit. It's like I'm making waves with them.
I paused (to write this down). They paused too—if only mostly. But damn, this is interesting.
It's so cool. I wonder if I can shape them into a middle finger.
***
Oh, damn. Welp, the heroes have finally arrived, their headlights melting away this wall of black. My knights in shining armor—pornstars, coming to fix my sink … it's the electricians! The lamppost repair guys!
Hurray! This is where my tax money goes!
Sorry for all the jokes at the expense of your people, John. But seriously—it's about time.