Fish are jumping and the roaches are high

The season of the cockroach is upon us. I love the weather down here, the fact that in March it actually starts to warm up. The way the air starts to smell again, after only a few months of cold. Sigh, but the cockroaches. There isn't enough time for them to die (and die they would, all of them, if I had my way) in the short winter months and, because the warm season is so long, they just keep growing. Before Bud left this week on another business trip, he looked at me and said, "you do know it's getting to be time for the cockroaches again, don't you?" and I sighed and said yes, it had occurred to me. The winter months seem to hold them back a little. As if to prove his point, not 24 hours after he left, a giant brown monster was crawling in the corner of our sliding glass door and ceiling. I can't explain my coping methods (or maybe can't explain really just means I don't have any) because the minute I see a cockroach I feel tears welling up. I just hate them more than I hate anything else in this world except for maybe abusive third world leaders. So I closed the dogs in the guest room, fetched our industrial sized can of Raid and began spraying the living shit out of Connor the Cockroach. I hope there is a special place in hell for him, right next to say, Saddam Hussein and Hitler. And perhaps the worst part to all of this? Is how I twitch all night in bed, just waiting for one to come crawling up my leg. They get into my head, that's the worst part. I vaguely remember jumping out of bed last night and turning on the lights TOTALLY convinced a snake had just dropped from the ceiling onto my covers. THAT IS WHAT THEY REDUCE ME TO.