So I went home on Friday night to help with the clearing-up operation after the radiator crisis. I hadn't been home since Tuesday, but I had tidied my room up on the previous Sunday so it would be ready for the inspection, so I was expecting a nice relaxing evening in my room.
Unfortunately, close inspection revealed that my entire room appears to have turned into an anthill.
Now, we have been having periodic ant problems in our house ever since we moved in. Every summer the colony awakes and invades. Usually a kettle full of boiling water and some ant powder sorts the fuckers out.
Also, the ants tend to attack from both the front and the back gardens, but mostly the front in recent times, and tend to congregate in the living room. Sometimes the kitchen. Never before have they ventured upstairs. In fact, they are not coming upstairs - they are appearing in my room straight from the front garden, invading through any space they can find. Through the masonry, in other words.
On discovering an ant on my leg on Friday night, I leapt on to my bed as Stef peered at the floor. You see, my revulsion to ants appears to be a little stronger than the norm. Perhaps this can be traced back to my father's half-eaten bag of peanuts story that he told me as a child. But I digress. I hate ants with an absolute passion. I would not describe it as a phobia as I don't think it is quite that, but it is probably the closest thing I have to one. Ants are to me what snakes are to Indiana Jones.
Ants. Why does it have to be ants?
Anyway, it was two in the morning when this discovery was made. There was nothing to be done at that time of night, so I somehow managed to get to sleep. And then, of course, woke up and sat bolt upright at 8:45 am, after discovering an ant crawling up my torso.
I peered over the side of the bed, and for the first time stared the ghastly truth in the face. Ants. All over the fucking place. It would be impossible to walk out of the room without stepping on some. Ants, I feel, are like stars in the sky. You look up and see nothing, and then you catch sight of one, and then suddenly the whole sky is teeming with beautiful little lights.
Yes, ants on a dark blue carpet are like that. The fuckers. It wouldn't be as bad if they just stayed on the floor, but...
Stef and I spent two hours on Saturday morning attacking the problem. I soaked the front of the house with water, not being able to find the nest itself. I also laid a trail of sugar in the garden to see if we could see where it would be taken to. Stef placed a mixture of sugar and ant killer on a piece of tinfoil and put it in the corner of the room. And I hoovered my entire room twice, sucking up as many of the fuckers as I could, with a look of manic rage on my face.
Anyway, the point of this post is this. I dislike being so revolted/scared by something that is fundamentally harmless. I had an idea on Saturday night that perhaps I should take steps to overcome it. I am wondering if I should have controlled exposure to ants crawling over me, in an attempt to get over my fear. Here is a poll to test the notion. Feel free to make additional comments if I don't list your choice of answer.
Hateful tiny fuckers.
Should I let ants crawl all over me, in order to get over my fear of them?
Yes. Good plan. It's worth a shot.
No. You'll just spend the next two weeks wondering if you've managed to comb out every single piece of ant leg from your hair.
No. It probably won't work and they'll be gone soon anyway.
We are Three of Twelve, tertiary adjunct of Unimatrix six-three. Resistance is Futile.