Bucket List

"Joseph, we have a roach."

These were the harried words I found myself saying just before bedtime on Friday night. These are the last words I want to be saying just before I willingly leave myself unconscious and therefore completely vulnerable for (hopefully) eight hours.

But there they were, and there it was. In all it's prehistoric glory.

I had seen one outside of our apartment--outside and therefore not something I could take sole responsibility for. That's fine, that's the apartment manager's problem then. This one, however, is likely my fault. It's inside my house, just outside my bedroom, near the bathroom with my diligently cleaned toothbrush.

My valiant husband leaped up from the laptop table, formidable men's slipper in hand, after the intruder. The chase thankfully bypassed the bathroom, but did not stop at the top of the hall--he made it to the living room! We lost him. He managed to skitter off into the abyss underneath the couch where all missing socks and cat toys must also surely go.

I have been feeling guilty for days about not having cleaned up more. Working to correct blood sugars tipping the scales at 389, however, took precedence over the resource sapping task of housework. Now that I've actually SEEN something that might be causally related to my lack of tidiness lately is highly unsettling. I desperately want to go scour the kitchen counter tops and sweep the floor, but the clock's scales, too, are tipping toward inordinately high areas (for me, that is). I can only hope that this particular cockroach is just finishing up his bucket list by visiting my place of residence and will be dead by tomorrow, that my sugars will be in a range ideal for completing housework, and that my cats don't find it in the night and deliver it to my promptly at dawn.