More later, current events as of now though:
I am such a little baby. I went downstairs to see if I got any mail today, and when I opened the mailbox it was there. A spider, one of the spindly sawdust-colored ones that my uncle always made me vacuum up along the ceiling of the shop when I worked there. It crawled up its little thread of web and sat there, scrunched along the bottom of the box. I started to get it, that feeling of things crawling over ever inch of my body, the visions in the backs of my eyes of thousands of spiders lowering themselves down from the ceiling, engulfing me. I pulled an old saran-wrap roll out of a nearby trash can and stood staring at the spider, thinking about how I couldn't kill it, how it was just trying to live. Then I thought about how dirty and dingy the foyer is, how it looks like no one has ever cleaned it, how I longed for a vacuum cleaner with attachments so I could do it myself. I thought about how people say if you vacuum up a spider, it can stay alive in there. I thought about spiders breeding inside my vacuum and coming out in a swarm, covering the walls, ceiling, floor of my apartment, surrounding me, trapping me. More images. Still I stood, staring. Then, somehow a final decision was made and I brought the cardboard tube up to the mailbox, saw the spider fall and in a split second I had dropped the tube and somehow arrived at the foot of the stairs. I don't know how many steps it took me to get to the door of my apartment, just that I was there faster than I had ever gotten there before. The door was already open, I exploded into the living room, slammed the door and locked it. Finally. Safe. My breath still came in panicked gulps that rasped in my throat. Eventually I would calm down, but I would still live in fear of the hour when I had to return to the foyer downstairs, when I had to avoid the cardboard tube to get to the door.