Sunday, June 26



A roach is in The Sanctum. And it's a frickin' FLYING roach. Darn it. I had a chance to squash it and I messed up. Now it's in here somewhere, perhaps waiting for me to get to bed before flapping its parchment-crisp wings and flying into bed with me. They ALWAYS do that. They can't resist it. These flying roaches must have kamikaze blood in them. I hate this. I wish I could just squash these frickin' irritating, invasive bugs from afar. But they're protected by shadows and corners and I can't reach 'em. But just give me a chance and I'll give them their just desserts. I'll have my chance and I'll be scraping off roach bits from a slipper sole. Just you wait. I'll bide my time for now and play nice. Once slip up, roaches. SPLAT. Bastards.

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