I'm such a hippacrit

Otay, I hate, absolutely hate killing anything. Even spiders as much as I can't stand them, I don't really like to kill them. Here at the office we have a problem with ants. It is a pretty big deal. I have to put any food related garbage outside in the yard trash as opposed to my office can. Anyhow, so we had the pest control peeps come out last week and spray around the perimiter of the office. At that time the guy gave me three ant bait thingies to put out if they got back in the office.

Matt says to me around 1:30 that he had a bit of sandwich in his garbage and it is now crawling with ants. I put out the bait around his garbage. I feel so bad. I went in and checked on them a little bit ago and the thing is filling up with their little bodies. I'm so depressed about this and yes I know it is silly to be upset about killing ants. It is just that they aren't hurting anybody, they just come in looking for leftovers to eat and take back with them.

Why in the name of Pete am I so weirded out by killing things? I mean even when I started cleaning up the side yard to plant my little fairie garden, I wouldn't kill the snails. I picked them up and put them outside my yard into the front. Yes I know, conflict of interest. Putting in a garden, but not killing the snails. So far they've stayed out of there, so I'm not complaining. Point is, this is how I am.

So I feel like such the loser about not wanting to kill things, and then having put out the trap for the ants. I know it's not that big a deal, but yeah, pooplins.