Under My Foot

Nothing is happening. Nothing happens. Very rarely does something actually happen. Today, nothing. Tomorrow, who knows. I know some of you are probably thinking, wow, that's profound, but trust me, it's not. You have the same thought every morning, I bet, as you roll along to work.

This morning was the most stupid thing, but in the end it was not an important or meaningful thing, just a thing like any other: stupid, but not stupid enough to really matter.

This morning I was barefoot in my apartment as is my right. One should be free to be barefoot always. It airs out the toes and gives one a sense of complete ownership of the floor, and I don’t know about you, but when I feel like I truly own something, I experience a total rush of contentment, of peace: my floor, my computer, my shoes, my feet.

In the kitchen I was standing barefoot, enjoying total contentment, making oatmeal. I felt a tickle at the bottom of my foot, right around the arch. Nothing particularly noteworthy, just a minor tickle. But noticeable enough that I looked down and wondered, “maybe it’s a piece of celery from that soup.” Chopped celery has the kind of bumpiness that would make the bottom of my foot feel a slight tickle. Having chopped celery on the floor is not a good idea when you have two cats. They could eat the celery and have an allergic reaction (but only if they are allergic to celery).

When I lifted my foot, it wasn’t celery, it was a cockroach. The roach was trying to hide in the shade of my arch. It freaked out, swirled in a fast circle that was meant to confuse me (and it worked!) and disappeared under the oven. That was it. It's too bad I didn't kill it because now it's making babies under the oven, but I think I get Karma points for letting it live, so it's not a totally diappointing day the way most days are.