Sunday, October 06, 2013

Cleaning out the crawl space = arachnophobia (part two)

The day when I was to go into the nether regions of the crawl space dawned. I turned on every possible light (one) to attempt to illuminate the darkest corners. It was a failed effort. I decided if I was to move, I needed to move quickly--get in and out as fast as possible to limit my exposure to her. Yes, I was convinced that Shelob lurked somewhere in that dark nest of spiderdom.

I edged my way into the crawl space, reaching out with my glaive to probe behind the various boxes and paint cans casting shadows in the dim light. I knew that any second she could drop from above, and I was terrified to even cast my eyes upward. I swung the glaive in wild arcs to knock down the webs that dangled to entrap. So far, I'd managed to launch my way into the crawl space the distance of one foot from the door that led to safety.

In time, I conquered my fear enough to haul out the 2 liter bottles filled with water for emergency storage, although I was thinking to myself it would have to be some kind of catastrophic emergency to induce me to go in there and get those things. Amongst the other goodies of Shelob's treasure was a bowling ball in a bag, a tubed container that contained maps, some old grave stones created for a Halloween party decades ago, and a box of various household cleaners and other products. Why we ever stashed those in that place, I'll never know. Perhaps I was thinking I would one day know Chuck Norris personally, or command an army. Neither one has ever happened. I guess that's why it was still down there.

The bottom line is, I conquered my fear momentarily, dragged it all out, and then pulled out my secret weapon to clear the dust from the concrete---my leaf blower. It worked great too, although clouds of dust filled the basement for a few minutes, I knew I was going to have to clean that too. I think I gave some of the smaller spiders a fun ride to the back of the crawl space, which is probably why I decided against going in there again and putting up the insulation that had fallen years ago. At that far end, an unused roll of fiberglass insulation sat there, waiting for someone to install it underneath the living room floor, where it had sat for decades. As I turned off my leaf blower and leaned over to close the door, I thought I saw a gigantic arachnid leg rising over the top of the roll of insulation.

I slammed the door and fled.

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