I'm having one of those weeks (I guess starting last Wednesday) where all I want to talk about is poetry and my sick cat. I'll refrain here.

I killed a brown recluse spider in my bedroom last night. I'm sure it's a brown recluse spider. I felt very brave. Now I'm checking every skin imperfection for signs of necrosis.

There was a haunted house. It was very manufactured - warehouses at the Waukesha fairgrounds, smoke machines, actors, rancid water, bookshelves and skeletons in the bathtub and other things theoretically beautiful that I wanted to photograph but was not allowed to. But they did a good job and I got scared and a fake ghost called me a midget and Robin "four-eyes" and another friend "beard guy" and we formed a human chain so we could get out of the final smokey maze without separating, passing other human chains going the other direction, resembling slightly Sean of the Dead.