An Open Letter to the Spider Lurking Somewhere in My Dorm Room

Dear spider,

We have a problem.

When I first saw you yesterday evening, I didn't think much of it. You were sitting quietly on the wall, high above my desk, minding your own business. This was a little unexpected, but not a big deal. I'm pretty open to meeting people (and arachnids), and I was even willing to consider you as my new, third roommate. As the hour went by and I worked on my lab report, I even grew fond of you. I began to consider you my friend.

But you were already pushing things, spider. The wall above my desk just wasn't enough for you. You needed more.

I can understand that. I know the feeling—the craving for more, newer, better things. The wanderlust that pushes us to move forward, to pioneer, to explore. Spider, I've BEEN there. I know what you were going through, and I don't hold it against you.

You crawled your way up to the ceiling, and there you stayed for a while. And it was good. Our relationship plateaued nicely—you in your small spot on the ceiling above my desk, me sitting on my bed muttering dark words against my lab report. Things were okay for a while, spider. You and me, we understood each other.

You pushed further, spider. Suddenly you were sitting on the ceiling above my bed, and I was not feeling so great about our situation. I should have told you then that I was feeling uncomfortable. I mean, it was unreasonable for me to expect you to read my mind, and I understand that it was probably my passive-aggressive tendancies in this situation that lead to our later confrontation.

You see, spider, I consider myself a pretty tolerant person—especially regarding you and your kin. But I have boundaries. I have morals, spider, and I feel like you were pushing me faster than I was ready to go. I didn't mind sharing a room with you, and maybe this was my first mistake. I should have laid down the law in the beginning, rather than just assuming that we'd understand each other. I get that you like me, spider. I mean, heck—I like you, too. But spider, we just met each other less than an hour ago. Sure, we hit it off right away, but still. Sharing a bed is a big step, and one that I was definitely not willing to make.

And you weren't pushing too hard, I admit. Just sitting there on the ceiling above my bed. Not actually doing anything wrong, but spider, sometimes it's not actions that count. It's intentions. I feel that your intentions in situating yourself directly above my pillow were somewhat less than honorable. I mean, I don't even understand how you hang from the ceiling in the first place. For all I knew, you were planning to drop onto my bed at any second.

I grew concerned. I went to my friend Perry for advice, and he urged me to terminate our relationship...or at least kick you out of the room. I should have listened to him, spider, but I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. After all, we were friends....weren't we?

As I finished my lab report and left the room to go work on Old Norse, you were still sitting there on the ceiling. In fact, hours later, when I returned from my homework, you were still in the same spot. I began to relax....Clearly, I thought, you and I had reached an understanding. Feeling at ease, I fell asleep. And things were good.

But spider, you had to go and ruin things. I understand now that your intentions were never honorable. That you spent all those hours on my ceiling only to lure me into a false sense of security. Spider, I feel hurt. I feel betrayed. I trusted you, spider, and you abused my trust.

I woke up at three thirty this morning, spider, and I think you know what happened next. No longer high above my bed, you were on the wall RIGHT NEXT TO MY HEAD. Whoa, whoa, whoa! Spider, what were you THINKING?

Clearly, this relationship was not heading in the right direction. I decided that I needed to get out. But even now, spider, I feel that I was too generous with you. I could have squished you there on the wall. But no! For the sake of our past friendship, for the good times that we had had together over the last nine hours, I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt one last time.

Finding a post-it note, I carefully fashioned it into a sort of "spider scoop," and devised a plan in which I would carefully—even lovingly!—remove you from the wall next to my bed, carry you out of my room, and release you into your natural habitat (the twenties wing stairwell). Spider, you need to understand that I wasn't just doing this for me. It was for both of us—the best possible end to a relationship gone sour. Maybe we would have even seen one another again. It would have been good, spider. I wish you could have seen that.

But no. As I tried to neutralise the situation, you lashed out against me, spider, doing the one thing that you knew—you KNEW—I was not okay with. You jumped down onto my bed. Spider, your actions in that moment, your split-second decision, your thoughtless action RUINED any chance we had at salvaging our relationship.

I can tolerate spiders in many places, but my bedsheets are not one of them. To enter this spider-free sanctuary is to go beyond the pale. It is like unto casting the Avada Kedavra. In a word, unforgiveable.

I am sorry, spider. We had a fun run. I put up with you for a while, but you pushed things too far. I let you do what you wanted, go where you wanted...and you abused that relationship.

I need boundaries, spider. I need borders. I need you NOT IN MY FREAKING BED.

You are dead to me now, spider. I'm sorry. I have been lying in bed for two hours now, unable to fall asleep. Every time I close my eyes, I feel like there are bugs crawling all over my body. I'm afraid of you, spider, irrationally afraid, and no healthy relationship can be based on fear. Things are over between us. They have to be.

I didn't want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice. The next time I see you—and I hope for both of our sakes that it is NOT ON MY FACE WHEN I WAKE UP—you die.

I'm sorry it has to end like this.

Love,
Sara