Gotta love living in the country. Someone tried to break into our house tonight. Well. More like 'tested the back door'. Which is kinda like trying to break in, in a half-arsed country drug addict kinda way. Then I find a live spider in my bed. Only in the fucking country does shit like this happen. I'm sitting here nearly naked because even though I killed the spider (with a Smiths CD cover no less; fear Morrissey) there might have been more, friends and relatives of the deceased waiting to get thier revenge on my pasty white skin. I don't want to go to bed because there might be a spider in there, and I don't want to put more clothes on because yet again, there might be a spider in there. My plan in to sit on my legs until they fall asleep and so I won't get phantom crawly sensations while I'm back in bed. The only flaw in this plan is that I'll be unable to make it to the bed without the use of my legs. I've been awake to long. I hate the fucking country.