once you begin, you're half-way finished

I heard that somewhere; probably something my dad said the night before the Science Fair in middle school. Do you remember those? Each year, I said it would be different. I said that I would start my project early, whether it was about the culture of Australia, the force it takes to pull apart two blocks of wood using different kinds of glue, or my foray into the stock market as an eighth grader. But it was always the same -- the tears usually began around 8:30 p.m., and my parents wound up taking over around 10 p.m.

It is true. Once you take that first step, you're at the half-way mark. That goes for cleaning my room, working on my projects for the office and turning down dessert so I can fit into my skinny jeans again. You just have to go for it.

This morning, I was rudely awoken by some idiotic financial company --"This is not a sales call. This is an important message for you." If it's so freaking important, then why can't an actual human call me? Why is it a message that tells me to hang up and call them back?? It was 8 a.m. on a Saturday!!! I was furious. I laid in bed for a while, turned on the TV, and watched Campbell and Lester.

I finally got up to take a shower. I went in the bathroom, grabbed a towel and my robe, and then I ran and squealed like a little girl. The biggest cockroach I have ever seen in the Sunshine State had taken residence on the door frame of my bathroom.

Needless to say, I got a late start on the day. I was literally paralyzed, standing right outside the bathroom, looking into the medicine-cabinet mirror at the reflection of the hideous creature, fly swatter in one hand and some 20-second roach spray in the other. Twenty seconds until it dies? Even 20 seconds seems like an eternity when you're contemplating what your move will be after you spray.

I tried to determine if it had wings. Couldn't tell. Even Thor didn't want to go near the door. I think he could sense the danger. I don't think I moved my feet for a solid 20 minutes. Should I go in and spray it head on? What if it flew at me? Should I stay where I am and just spray upward and hope I hit it?

One step, just do it. I had a couple of false starts, and then I saw myself in the mirror and couldn't help but laugh. Could I be a bigger nerd? I finally sprayed, shreiked when the monster fell to the ground, and then kept spraying until it ran out of view. Then I screamed when some of the spray -- this is kinda gross -- dripped to the floor from the door frame. I drenched that sucker!

Then, I spent another 15-20 minutes trying to figure out where the beast was. Did it crawl into the shower? Was it dying? I couldn't find it. I finally saw it on its back. Or at least, I hope that was it. I began to doubt myself.

It must be the monsoon season we seem to be in. It has rained everyday for the last month or so. Ick. I can't stand those things. I have a history with them, but I will save that for another post.

I've been wanting to start a blog for a long time, and now I'm running to catch up with the bandwagon. Maybe I'll start podcasting before the next decade begins! But here I am, the first entry. And I did it all by myself -- no tears, either.