Tuesday, June 13, 2006


Here’s something both sad and gross: A few moments ago, as I sat on my tuffet, typing away about Victorians, a spider came along and hung out very close to the tuffet. I’m currently in a phase where I am trying to spare the lives of innocent spiders, but it was so big and scary, and it is two in the morning, so I dropped a book on it. It squooshed, and then zillions to teeny-tiny spiders spilled out all over our floor—like black dandelion fluff on a windy day. I had to kill them too. It doesn’t make me happy. It’s kind of disgusting, and I feel bad for the spider(s), and I’m a little scared of going to hell. As a child, my conception of hell was spending eternity with all the spiders I had killed. Since then, I’ve been exposed to more sophisticated theological propositions, but those formative beliefs tend to stick with you.


  1. Obviously, female spider agency during the postmodern era is mediated through the absence or presence of a dominant female figure. You.

  2. Hi Barry, I love reading your blogs and the way you express yourself. I always feel guilty when I kill something and recently I squished a beautiful large grasshopper as it was dominating my pot of capsicum. I realised I could have caught him for Ian to immortalise. Love for now Margaret