I took this picture yesterday, intending to write something about how happy I was to finally be able to curl up under my quilt at night. You see, I’ve spend the last few months spending my (supposedly) sleeping hours trying to touch as little as possible while simultaneously catching as much of my fan’s output as possible. Yes, I was very pleased with the idea that finally, flannel would be welcome. If only I had known that it would try to kill me.
11:00 rolled around and I decided to turn in. Blankets turned down, lights out, glasses off, and bedtime rosary started. A little while later: Hail Mary, full of – Ow, what on earth could I have rolled onto? (*readjust*) …grace, the Lord is with – good grief, what could that have been? It’s not like I keep a switchblade under my pillow. (Memo to self: get switchblade. A woman has to be protected, after all.) Thee. Blessed art thou amongst – alright, nothing I rolled onto would cause me to swell up…Wait.
It was roughly at this point that I leapt out of bed, grabbed my glasses, and turned on the lights in one smooth (smooth, got it? Not panicked) motion. A trip to the mirror confirmed that I did indeed have a bug bite of some kind on my shoulder. A
frenzied calm and peaceful search of my bed yielded nothing, which is kind of okay, because I didn’t really want to know what had been lurking in my bed.
Unwilling to take any more risks, and already feeling phantom bugs crawling all over me, I cast my blankets to the foot of the bed, put on a hoodie (hood up), and more or less slept in the fetal position, my shoulder feeling like I had just gotten a particularly painful shot.
This morning, my boss confirmed that it was most likely a spider of some sort, but as I am unwilling to google “Indiana biting spider,” I think his exact identity will have to remain a mystery.