The worst way to die

Well fuck me,

I’m at the old house again tonight, hoping to get enough done for me to be able to finish tomorrow. And again I am sleeping on the floor, though I hadn’t planned on sleeping much. So no problem, right?


Jumping out of an airplane (which, by the way, I miss) cured me of every fear I could think of, besides maybe a wild animal like a lion or bear attacking me on my way to the car at night. I didn’t consider another big, horrible, terrible, illogical fear I have: bugs. Particularly cockroaches. Especially the great big ones looking for shelter when it’s wet outside or looking for water when it’s dry outside, which means loitering inside my house pretty much all the time. The black ones, water bugs, aren’t as bad as the brown ones until they decide to fly. Because it’s not enough to be a cockroach. The brown ones, for whatever reason, freak the ever loving shit out of me. 

I was in the little back room sorting what little is left in there, and this THING, oh my God. This thing walked out onto the carpet. I screeched. Loudly. The cat chased it, and I stood, frozen, terrified, while she cornered the bug between a short stack of math books and the wall. I told her, yelled at her, demanded her to get it. I instantly realized that what I was telling the cat was to eat it. Fuck no. Oh for the love of all that is good and holy, please Cat, do not eat that thing. Just kill it. And I envisioned her eating it, chomping it. I seriously nearly puked when I wrote that. So I took off my shoe, knowing the shoe wasn’t big and heavy enough to kill it on fluffy carpet nor long enough to keep my body parts at a great distance from the horrible thing. It had long antennas. It smelled my fear. It did not run from me. I grabbed a book, a large math book that was written by me and which I thought was appropriate as I have residual negative feelings from that job. This negativity began after the book was published and I had to do mountains of research on math standards for various states. Mississippi had the lowest standards, Massachusetts, the highest, and Texas was somewhere in the middle. Dry job. Went from amusement park to shoveling smelly asphalt. But I digress.

The cockroach ran under the bookcase before I could throw the book at it. I missed the bug both literally and metaphorically. I stood frozen holding the book. Waiting. I don’t know for how long. I feared looking away. With one eye below the bookshelf and the other helping me move things out of the room, I cleared the floor of all but the bookshelf, and I blocked the exit. I put a towel under the door to trap the bastard. And I’m sleeping here tonight on the floor on pillows in another room. Currently lying here on high alert. Eyes wide open. Fully dressed with shoes still on in case an emergency exit is required. 

I thought about going home, but it’s raining and I still have much to do. And I don’t want to wake anyone up. 

According to, I suffer from Katsaridaphobia

I copied that word from the website and pasted it here, and the word pasted in big bold letters. I’m leaving the word on the page as is to emphasize the extent of my fear. My terror. 

Cockroaches can eat a person, you know.


Author: uncaged

When Picasso painted a blue Seated Woman in a Chair, he was unconsciously thinking of me.

4 thoughts on “The worst way to die”

      1. You will be glad to know that the bug was dead when I opened the door. Sometimes the extermination poison takes a while to kill the bugs, and some bugs won’t die no matter what type of poison is used. So I never know what I’m up against when I see those things. But I was so relieved to see it dead!

        Liked by 1 person

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