I Lived Through My Worst Nightmare Last Night. Okay, Second Worst Nightmare.

Believe it or not readers, I had a cute, thoughtful post filled with puppies and kittens all planned out for today. That however must be put on hold because OH MY GOSH YOU GUYS I LIVED MY WORST NIGHTMARE LAST NIGHT so of course that takes priority and must be shared.

Sorry for the shouting, it was really traumatic.

So, to set the scene for you – I like to read every night before bed, because that’s something I’ve been doing since birth and it quiets my mind down enough for me to actually fall asleep. On nights when I forego the reading ritual, I lay asleep for hours as my mind races through every step necessary to complete my five-year-plan (yes I have a five-year-plan, stop judging me). But last night, Mike was very tired and kicked me and my reading light out of bed, which made me surly and resentful that I had to find another place in our blazing hot house to read.

For reference, our house is about a hundred years old and has neither insulation nor air-conditioning, so this summer and its record-breaking heat wave has been a zen-like practice in living in a sauna. Even when it’s moderately cool outside, it’s like a sticky armpit inside unless all the windows are open with fans blowing, which we don’t do at night because hello, burglars, come right in and take our valuables while we sleep, please. So the only tolerable room in the house at night is the bedroom. Believe me, I was not happy about being kicked out of the only room in which I am guaranteed to not sweat.

Also, I had spent the evening working on a project that’s very emotionally taxing – those in AA will understand the turmoil of step four, and those who aren’t in AA just imagine your emotions are being repeatedly punched in the gut with a rubber mallet – so basically I was primed and ready for a depressive hysteria fit.

Given these two predetermined factors, I was like an emotional time-bomb waiting to detonate at the slightest provocation.

After an attempt at reading on the couch but nearly instantly melting into a pile of goo, I went to sit on the cool, breezy front porch. Ah, bliss.

Now, before proceeding, let me explain that I am not really afraid of anything God has created on this earth. I’m more afraid of stuff I create, like failure and falling off the wagon and failure.

But. I am terrified of spiders.

It’s not a fear so much as a horrific, heart-attack-inducing-black-out-screaming-frenzied-irrational phobia. Eh, really there is no way to sufficiently convey it in intellectual terms, it’s a purely visceral experience.

Over the years, through baby-steps and necessity, I have learned to kill spiders that invade my home without freaking out quite so turbulently as I had in times past. I recently discovered this,

which may not be the most humane way of dispatching them, but it completely eliminates the possibility that the creepy-crawly-creatures will actually make contact with my skin and induce a violent panic attack complete with screaming, wild-shuffling, and possible injury.

So anyway, back to me peacefully reading on our porch. I am minding my own business and trying valiantly to finish The Fountainhead, which is an experience akin to crossing the finish line after a 10K, when a creepily-slow movement caught the corner of my eye.

I shrieked hysterically, because HOLY MOTHER%^&*&^%! It was the hugest, most spindly-legged, exuberantly colored red garden spider aberration of God’s creation in the history of EVER to descend on a web. Exactly ONE FOOT from my face.

ONE FOOT FROM MY FACE.

I am shaking right now as I type this.

For those unfamiliar with this species, garden spiders are the suburban version of tarantulas. Except they’re completely harmless. Also, as far as I can tell, they’re not fuzzy. But they’re HUGE. Their bodies are ginormous because they make elaborate ten foot webs in yards and, duh, gardens. Or in my case, right in front of my freaking face.

Okay, what I am about to show you may be unsuitable for arachnophobes like me, so please brace yourself.

It was difficult for me to even Google pictures of them without breaking out in a cold sweat and shaking all over. But I will do anything for you guys. Because I am a hero.

I did a ninja-like horizontal leap to my right over the arm of the chair (with no acceleration, mind you; pure terror popped me up and over, like a cartoon character), ran into the house and locked the door (in case it decided to follow me back into the house – creatures with eight legs are capable of anything and are not to be trusted). Then, I commenced with a freak-out the likes of which this world has never seen. I may have blacked out for a little. Crying hysterically, I brushed myself off in the dark just in case the creature had, you know, jumped on me without my knowing.

Mike of course was equally freaked out, but only because I had been outside screaming like a flogging victim. Once I managed to blubber the word “spider,” he shook his head and left me to my ravings.

Of course, I had nightmares involving these beasts all night.

The only thing that would have made this incident worse is if garden spiders were poisonous. And they could fly. I don’t think I would want to live in a world with flying spiders.