eight legs and i'm squeak-screaming bejeezus

So, I'm sitting at my computer, minding my own business, and who should come crawling up and over the monitor but a large, light-brown, gushy-legged spider. As fast as I could I pushed my chair back and did some kind of squeaky scream. I hate spiders. And right before my eyes what did it do (before I had time to grab a shoe, a kleenex, a shoe, a ruler, a gun, a shoe....) but drop down the face of the monitor and lickety split disappear between the keys of my keyboard.

MY KEYBOARD, PEOPLE.

I squeaked again, and not because I wanted to or thought to or anything -- I learned today -- just minutes ago really -- that I squeak when I am paralyzed with spider fear. For a complete mental picture, imagine me holding the back of my chair (an aeron, don't forget that important piece of the visualization) between me and the keyboard -- you know -- to stay safer.

So I'm standing there and it's slowly dawning on me. Oh shit. And then, holy mother of god. The devil himself has crawled underneath the beloved keys of my keyboard. With all my might and bravery, I turned the keyboard over to shake it -- maybe the nasty spider will tumble out like a bit of cookie. No. So I shook again. This way and that. Tapped the back of the keyboard. No spider. No cookie.

I put the keyboard back down. I try to catch my breath. I don't take my eyes off of that keyboard (which seems to have its own pulse now -- is it breathing too?). And what did I see but a toe peaking out underneath the alt key. That fucking spider had the balls to stick a toe out at me. No - not just one toe, two toes. Two spider toes. Right there.

Squeak squeak.

So I did the only thing worth doing: I started hitting keys. Not with my fingers, but with the end of one of those tape lint brushes (important to have on hand when you own the king of shed, Chapin McShedster, Siamese Shedder Extraordinaire). Toes gone. Spider not gone cuz when I peered closely (as closely as I could, being the big arachnaphobic baby that I am) I noticed the toes had moved to the opposite end of the keyboard and were now hanging ten between the shift and the z.

Begin hitting shift and z keys. Throw in a few good beats of x, c, a, s, and d for good measure. Once again toes gone.

By now I'm realizing that the keyboard may be toast. I may have to throw out this keyboard. I like this keyboard. But I like my sanity more and there was no way in hell I was going to be able to type my needed typing knowing that the eight-legged spawn of satan was plotting human slaughter underneath the letter G or perhaps H. God forbid he set up shop underneath that function row.

My solution was one part truce and two parts denial. I did the only other reasonable thing. I went downstairs and booted up the laptop (oh thank you thank you thank you lap top for being in my life and right there available.) But the laptop took severe steps of betrayal and refused to log on to the router. No internet. So there is me, downstairs on the couch, traiterous lap top on my lap, infected keyboard upstairs, no internet connection.... And this is where the two-parts denial comes into play. I convinced myself in the time it took me to boot up the lap tap and try to connect to the internet multiple times the spider used its superevil spider noggin and high-tailed it out of the keyboard (I mean, the toes had been a sign, right, that he'd wanted to evacuatate ASAP, right? right?).

So after a serious under the keyboard cleaning (as well as I could) and several more upside down shaking, I am once again in front of the should-be quarantined keyboard. BUT -- BUT -- my fingers are tense. Tense I tell you. And arched. They're all tense and arched and dancing over the keyboard, just like my own version of spiderlegs. And I hope that the spider vamoosed (no cannot consider where creepy mccreepster might have creeped off to) or that his little spider carcass is being smashed to bits under the tap dance of my typewriting.