And now, the guilt

I try to be peaceful with other living things -- well, things that don't spew bullshit rhetoric and condescending crap at me.

I have a sort of live-and-let-live attitude with the bugs in my apartment (I still don't understand how we have so many, though expect it has a great deal to do with being surrounded by trees and large gaps in the screens). I try to avoid ants when walking on the sidewalks. I will occasionally remove earthworms to soil if they're stranded on concrete. Large moths and bees I try to safely catch and release outdoors.

There are, however, a few exceptions: mosquitoes will always die, as will flies, earwigs and little green indoor spiders who bite (I was fine with them until one ran across my face and viciously bit my chin -- hurt like a fuck).

Unfortunately, it appears as though one of those greenish spiders has gotten busy. Its progeny have run amuck in the bathroom. Dozens and dozens of small little green spiders scuttling across the bathroom ceiling, dangling in the corners, lurking in the folds of the shower curtain...

On principle, I have to kill them. If I leave them, they'll have the run of the place within a few brief months, and they'll start raising their own young'uns. And they're too small to effectively catch and release.

So I am a murderer. I've killed about 25-30 shortly before bed tonight, all the while profusely apologizing and asking their forgiveness. Now my conscience is prickling almost as much as my skin. About five minutes ago, I removed an escapee from my hair, and set him on the side of the sink, telling him that I couldn't kill any more of his brethren.

However, I can't vouch for Chris, so the wee chap will likely meet his doom in the next day or so via Chris' vengeful, spider-hating hand.

Sorry, little spider guys.