Creep Factor

Woke up in the middle of a horrible dream. No slasher movie/suspenseful crap. No, it was much, much worse. I was working in an art store (it's been, what? 15 years since I've done that?) and went to ring someone out at the cash register. Only to move something and be faced with a gi-normous spider. I'm talking dinner plate size. Not a fuzzy spider, but one with a carapace kind of like a crab shell. And it had a baby. The size of a salad plate. Eeurgh, Ew and Aaaargh! The monster arachnids scampered off onto the floor several feet into the corner and this is when things went from creepifying to weird. I pulled out a color-coded chart and discovered that they were in a "safe" zone and I couldn't squish 'em. Not that I really wanted to. C'mon, those hard shells wouldn't squish, they'd crackle. Shudder. Twitch. (I'm talking about me here, not the creepy-crawlers).

The hubster would inevitably tell me that the nightmare critters are about the fact that I need to get off my ass & write. As in, Write Now, Dammit! He always reminds me of the myths about spiders creating the first written language in their webs. He might be right about why they showed up in my dream, but I could use a less terrifying kick in the pants, dear psyche. No really. Please lay off the giant brittle bugs. You're just scaring me into paralysis, so knock it off. If you promise to keep the eight-legged freaks out of my dreams, I promise I'll write my little fingers off.