This is my life

First, a series of (seemingly) unrelated facts:

1. My cat is a troublemaker. I found him in a parking lot, and ever since he has either been terrorizing me or eating/pooping his brains out. Crass, but true.

2. I have a cockroach phobia. Water bugs, palmetto bugs, cockroaches--they're all the same to me. My phobia stems, I believe, from the time I stepped on one in my bare feet while running to the car. I was 7.

3. I couldn't come up with any material for this, my last mandatory blog post. It has to be good, I thought. I have nothing.

So last night, I go to bed at a decent hour, having completed my homework in a shockingly timely fashion. I wake to the sound of my dog barking. I'm angry. I sit up in bed and he's standing halfway in the bathroom.

Great. The cat is standing on the shelves or something. (Sulley is very good about tattling on Squeaky.) I have to use the bathroom anyway, so I get out of bed and walk into the bathroom.

Squeaky is sitting on the toilet, just chilling. Weird, but not weird enough to wake me from my stupor. He jumps down, I use the bathroom, so on and so forth.

I exit the bathroom to find Squeaky sitting directly on my pillow, facing the wall. Again, I'm angry and confused, because Squeaky doesn't usually hang out on the bed, especially with people in it (the boyfriend was asleep on the other side).

I stood for a minute in the dark, squinting at squeaky, who was staring at the wall above the bed.

I followed his gaze to the wall.

Giant. Cockroach.

The size of my face, crawling up the wall, falling back down on the pillows.

I start screaming, my boyfriend leaps out of bed and proceeds to sleepily try to kill it while I cry in the background.

I passed the rest of the night staring out of the window and flinching at the phantom bugs crawling on my body.

I'm still in shock, I think.

And, somehow, I think I'm the one to blame. Damn you, blog jinx.