i wonder what the spiders think of me.

i don't kill them, as a rule, as long as they're nowhere near my sheets. we're on the same side, as i see it, trying to survive, eating what comes our way, making homes for ourselves in weird little corners.

the only roommates i can stand, i wonder what they think of me: the strange creature who sings loudly to herself, prods them out of the way when she sporadically cleans, who fills the apartment with smoke and then bumps into things.

this place is old, and huge, and full of creepy corners i don't care to dust (ha! like i dust.), so the spiders do pretty well here.

i've been doing things that i'm good at lately, or noticing that i'm good at the things that i'm doing, and somehow i'm doing better than pretty well. i think i might be happy-- not that the spiders really care.