I hate cockroaches more than I hate George Bush Jr. and the American administration. It came to me how much I hate them after I got really intoxicated celebrating JD Fortune's birthday last night.

I haven't updated this blog since the World Cup ended. Since then real life has been seriously kicking my ass. It's been an emotionally rough ride, and up until this week, my main sentiments were pretty much "Fire bad. Tree pretty." (I miss Buffy the Vampire Slayer). So there was no point in blogging, but I felt compelled to share my loathing of cockroaches.

I know as someone who studies anthropology, and has studied primate evolution, I should be fascinated by the seemingly non-mutation of the roach over the course of centuries. The skittering little pests annoy me to the point that I can't fully appreciate their biology or their interaction with their environment.

Many moons ago I had to obtain a pest control license to enable me to be present when treatments were conducted in the factory I worked at. I ended up getting the highest level I could achieve at the time, now the main class for pest control technicians in the province. I've studied insect, rodent, and bird control. I've had to dispose of mice, rats, and beetles. I've investigate a number of infestation of various vermin, but no matter how many times I encounter roaches, my skin just crawls.

About twenty-two years ago I lived in one place where it was routine to dodge the little f**kers upon entry into the kitchen in particular. It was a daily chore to work up enough nerve to go in there, but I did because I had no choice, and I couldn't afford to live anywhere else. Eventually we found the source of the infestation, an old stove in the basement, and it was discarded, and I slowly got back to being able to eat and have a cup of tea without being disturbed.

And once or twice over the twenty years I have lived in my apartment I have seen a few of them. Then, when I was having a particularly crappy day not too long ago, I went to perform my nightly check of the recycling and garbage room and when I turned on the light I saw something skitter past me. My heart started pounding, and it took a lot of effort to get me through the door to investigate. I didn't see anything else until two days later when I saw a number of them running over the garbage bins and the recycling containers. And each day I've seen a few more. Yesterday I only had to open the door and one came skittering out. I'm sure pest control treatments are in the works, but I've been having cockroach nightmares every night since I first saw them. I hate feeling vulnerable. And weak. I've fought against those feelings most of my life, and had to face up to many of my fears. But it takes a lot out of me.

If these new visitors set up camp for good in this building, which is aging and not being up-kept like it used to be, I'll be looking at moving after more than two decades of tenancy.

Now, if the roaches offered to pay part of the rent for using the space, or they could converse, sing, and dance like the ones in the movie Joe's Apartment, and could help me find true love, I might reconsider. Until then, I'm left with shivers and a feeling of dread when I see them. And a realization that there is something I hate more than Bush.