Once
upon a time,
I
was afraid of roaches.
"Never
trust anything
that
outlived the dinosaurs," <---proper f'd <---blimey
they'd
say.
Until,
one night,
I spied
(with my lil eye)
a creepy crawler darting
under
the bed.
Maybe it was my
dormant animal instincts,
or perhaps
I had just been reading
a Watterson classic
in which
we got to see Hobbes'
point
of view
whilest waiting for Calvin
to
come home from school,
but
in that fateful moment,
I decided to be afraid no longer.
I won't go into
the details
of that night,
but 7 hours
and one papasan chair
later,
one of us <---not the roach
walked out of the room alive.
Somewhere
near
the beginning of
this story,
I was trying to make a point
about
respecting the journey,
because
everyone is on one.
But,
as oft apt
to do,
it somehow steered itself towards
me owning.
The end. <----probably not
