Amy, this one's for you.

Roaches, roaches everywhere. I can't go on like this. There have been two roaches in my bedroom in two days. I can't get up to pee in the middle of the night because I'm scared I'll step on one. I'm sure they are crawling all over my face at night. I have two mysterious bites, and although I have never heard of roaches biting, I bet they are roach bites. Which means they are in the bed with me. I may end up like that guy in that episode of "Creepshow."



I dedicate this post to Amy, who was always there for me when I lived in a bug infested apartment in Bakersfield. Any time of night or day, I could call her for sympathy and shrieking about my bug woes. Like when a roach and I danced barefoot in the kitchen, me wondering with every hop whether we'd land in the same place at the same time with a giant squish. When I felt it's squiggly little legs running across my foot, Amy screamed with me over the phone as I recounted the horror.
Or the time when I found a bag of birdseed in my kitchen that was filled with googleplex insects. I saw a few and put it in a garbage bag and tied it up while I cleaned the cabinet. When I looked at the bag a little later, the inside was swarming with thousands of insects that were trapped inside.
Amy, you were always there for me.