It’s midnight; we are moving tomorrow, and I have been up since 6am. I am trying to finish packing the kitchen up, and eh, maybe I’m halfway through. In an effort to lighten our load I did no grocery shopping this week and encouraged everyone to use stuff up. Which means that the last glass of water was drunk, 3 hours ago, by me. There is no more water in the house, period. Except for tap water, and we all know that stuff gives you dysentery. I am thirsty. T H I R S T Y. Soooo thirsty. How can I wrap plates and pack glasses and clean when my throat is shriveling up? I can’t. I just have to drink something. And my husbands warm coke or the kids undiluted orange squash just aren’t options you know. It’s time for drastic action. A midnight race to my husbands car for the trusty bottle of water he always has in there. It will be perilous, dark, there will be monsters. I steel myself. I grab the keys. Put my shoes one. Stand in front of the door. I tell myself all will be fine. I open the door. At first, it’s ok. Nothing flies at me. But SUDDENLY a Crane Fly swoops through the door, dives at my head, and then races toward the light. Another bashes against the door, obviously not understanding exactly how it works. A huge white moth slams into the glass, I see shadows circling just behind the throw of the kitchen light. I let out a scream and slam the door. Simultaneously ducking and waving my hands above my head to fend off the imminent attack. Nothing. I look up, and around. The crane fly is making his way into the dining room, where ultimately, he will meet his demise.
The door remains closed. And here I sit. Thirsty. So thirsty. Water.