Bless this mess

It is amazing how much havoc one small spider can wreak in an apartment.

Every piece of clothing is on the bed or hanging from the exercise bike.  My shoes are all on the bed.  The suitcase is lying on the floor topped by some of my purses. The keyboard lies against the door and things like my lock box, sewing kit, and sewing machine are stacked neatly around the room.

I have lived here three months and just did next year's spring cleaning -- all because a spider the size of a quarter was crawling up above my patio door. 

I don't know where he came from, but it could have been from the closet and after eleven years of battling mice, slugs, spiders the size of my hand and centipedes that probably had ten thousand legs, I have zero tolerance for sharing my abode with creatures that make no sound and appear with startling speed when I least expect them.

After that I took a bath, slipped, and filled the bathroom with a deluge that would have made Captain Ahab wince.  Now I am washing towels and bath mats and one very soaked terry bathrobe.

Yesterday I was putting a single serving of orange juice in the refrigerator.  Allowing myself only a third of a bottle each day, I was truly looking forward to drinking it for breakfast.  But . . . as I placed in on the shelf, it crashed to the floor, the lid flew off and orange juice poured, splashed and dripped all over the kitchen.  Sugary, sticky, orange juice that I didn't even get to drink!

At this moment I find myself reluctant to even turn on a faucet, or making a cup of coffee.  I'm afraid that if I do it will end up anywhere it doesn't belong.

I am truly considering just going to bed.