Last night my roommate Amy found our first scorpions of the summer. We'd been warned by the homeowners that they were around and sometimes found their way indoors, but so far we'd seen nothing but the usual spiders, june bugs, ants, sowbugs, and other miscellaneous, mostly harmless members of the creepy-crawley world. Scorpions, however, even to me, are an entirely different matter. The first one we saw last night was scuttling around on the back patio, and then within a few minutes Amy had discovered another one on the rug in the foyer. That one I smashed with a shoe-- scorpions are a bit messier than your average arachnid, I've now learned-- but I refused to bother the one outside, though Amy shrieked at me to kill it too. (It still lives, unless something higher on the food chain has eaten it since-- she was too jumpy to go dispatch it herself.) I twitched occasionally as I lay in bed reading, partially convinced that some eight-legged, barbed-tail beastie was crawling up my leg, but nothing was ever there.
Still, given the biting ants we've had visiting us over the past few days, it seems that we're going to have to find more effective means of preventing further invasions. I'd hate to have to give up walking around barefoot.
I'm munching on dry roasted peanuts and listening to "Free Bird" as I write this. Trying not to count the hours I have left at this desk. Contemplating plans for this weekend. Wondering if I have time to go to the grocery store tonight. In short, avoiding starting this next pile of applications.
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