My favorites are the little black and white jumping spiders. Salticus scenicus. “Dancing theatrical.” They seem so charming, so friendly. Elegant and graceful. Entirely unlike my poor self in every way.
And I wonder – half stunned with the heat – if I concentrate hard enough…. I can almost feel it happening…. Might I slip out of this gross human flesh? Become something so pure and perfect? Can it be happening?
But no. I am stuck. And perhaps it is for the best. I am not entirely sure that I am ready for spinnerets. Multiple legs, yes. Compound eyes, certainly. Sucking the bodily fluids of prey species, mmmmmmmm – delicious. But spinnerets? I wouldn’t know where to begin.
The Candleman agrees with this assessment. He does not say so aloud, obviously. But he seems to burn a little brighter as I write this.
Lunch today was a delightful soup, something Chef called an “Iberian-Nipponese” fusion – lumps of raw salmon in a cold, vegetable-laden tomato broth. I shall have to request it again, although I fear that to do so would simply insure that I would never again see anything of its ilk. Chef is terribly contrary.
