I'm Trying Very Hard To Live By Myself, If You Don't Mind.

Just the other day, I was telling my best friend Cindy that I've established an odd sleep-schedule, where no matter what time I go to bed... I seem to pop up, wide-awake, at 6 o'clock in the morning.  These days, I haven't even been setting an alarm.  This morning though, at about 5:30am, I was awoken by an odd noise.  It sounded like someone was repeatedly slapping a piece of deli meat again the wall of my bedroom.  

I shot upright.  I turned on the light, reached for my glasses, looked around.  Nothing. 

In an attempt to fulfill the last 30 minutes of my sleep regiment, I laid back down.  Lights out. 

Just moments later... I heard the sound again.  "Slap....Slap.  Slap-slap-slap."  I actually got scared, picturing someone standing there, hitting a juicy slice of Boars Head Smoked Turkey Breast against the wall.

I turned on the light again.  Squinted my eyes.  

"Oh!  Oh geeeez!  Uh!!"  I called out.  It was brown.  Near-sighted, un-bespectacled Nania thought it was a bat.  I sat upright again, reached aimlessly for my glasses, and began pumping my legs to kick off the covers.  The same blankets that provided so much cozy comfort while I slept now had me ensnared!  It was like getting into a chicken-fight with an octopus.  With one final kick, I freed myself. 

I pressed my glasses onto my face.  The bat was not a bat.  It was a big, dark brown moth. Kid you not, estimated wingspan: 4.5 inches.  And the center of his body was so dense, so doughy, that the repeated impact of it against my wall woke me from sleep. 

"AHHH!!! UHHH!!"  With a surge of adrenaline, I shot up onto my feet.  I was pants-less.  Defenseless. Me against the moth.  I jumped up and down to shake off the goosebumps that drew a line upward from calves to the nape of my neck.  I began to flap my hands like a startled rooster might.   I ran out of my room.  In my frenzy, I tripped over the Ikea cushion I had propped against the wall... the one that came with my new rocking chair.... see photo:

Face-plant!  And my left pinky finger hit the corner of the coffee table.  Right on the underside of the knuckle.  Ahh! 

Face-down on the ground, I listened again.  No slapping. 

"I know you're still here!!" I proclaimed in my best, commanding, Don Draper voice, trying to intimidate this moth out of any corner or crevice in which it might be resting.  Watching me.  Laughing.

I've been sitting here now, writing this blog in utter silence for the past 20 minutes.  No slapping.  No signs of my new roommate.  

But I know he's still here.  This is not the end.  Just me against The Moth.  

That little bastard better cough up his half of the rent. 

-NL