There are ants in the kitchen. My dear Greg commenced battle against them before I got home from work, but some still linger.
I'm not usually squirmy over bugs, but ants really bother me. I think it goes back to Winter 1986, growing up in Northern California. That year there was a lot of rain. The ground was saturated. Wind-blown rain was actually leaching through the walls of my bedroom. One of my bedroom windows didn't close properly, and sometimes I'd wake up soaked from the rain. Nothing wanted to be outside in that weather, including ants. I can still see them on my walls, on my floorboards, my bookcase... everywhere. The only time a bug ever lasted more than a millisecond in my mother's impeccably clean house were those ants, that winter.
I feel like they're crawling all over me, damn them. Hate ants.