23 Jul Dear M’Skeeters, Please Die.
Hate is a strong word. It’s also the right word. I hate mosquitoes.
I want to kill them all. They haunt me. They drive me to the brink of insanity.
I believe they are the spawn of the Devil. I believe God said to the Devil, “Bezelbub, you may create one being on my earth.” Well, bad move because the devil nailed it. He really crushed it. I bet there was no anger, angst or hate before the mosquito. Simply by creating this mechanism of insanity, this soul sucking swarmer, the devil, in one moment, guaranteed that man would go off his hinges.
If I was a judge and someone was sitting trial for murder, and when asked why he did it, he began his answer with: “Well it all started with these mosquitoes…”. I’d bang my gavel in agreement and declare the case closed. The blame is clear! These things drive me batsh&t crazy.
Some days they are ceaseless. You literally can’t stop walking without a swarm forming around you, preying on your blood, raising itchy welts all over your legs. The nicest swimming holes and most beautiful meadows are rushed past with a herd right behind you, slapping at air and yourself.
Sometimes I hear the buzzing of a skeeter herd behind me and just know I can’t stop. I swing my trekking poles, slapping the air sometimes gouging my own legs accidentally. I don’t even care.
Sometimes the swarm follows me for what seems like miles. When I see dragonflies come to my defense and follow the swarm that’s following me, I curse at them for being lazy and ask them what took them so long. Why aren’t you better than this, dragonfly?
They make me so angry. Insect murder seems so justified. It’s a rage saved for more dire situations most certainly, but the skeeters somehow have the key that opens the door of fury. I feel as though if someone gave me the option to lose a limb and rid the world of mosquitoes immediately, I’d tell them to get me a damn hatchet. I’d do that for you.
Sometimes, as the swarm follows me and picks at my calves, torments my spirit, sticks a burning piercing icepick of insanity into my brain like an 19th century lobotomy on PCP, as that happens, I sometimes think of what animals I’d give up for the mosquito. For example, I’ll wonder if I had the right magic wand to rid the world of mosquito, but to do so, I also had to give up cheetahs…would I do it? I love cheetahs. They’re so fast and cool. I probably wouldn’t give up cheetahs. That’s how I feel right now. I’d say peace to the armadillo in a heartbeat though. Easy.
Out here, they dictate when and where I break, where I camp, how long I hold my pee uncomfortably. If, God forbid, I have to cathole in skeeter territory, it’s like they know the most uncomfortable and hard to swat places, they come in at full steam as I’m pulling my drawers down, I’m helpless and they’re tearing my tail end apart, my soft pale vulnerable toosh. The humanity. Devil’s spawn, I tell you. Devil’s spawn.
I think when Pandora opened her box, it was just mosquitoes that came out. That’s all it took: Evil incarnate.
In truth, it’s surprised me how much they get under my skin. I wrote this post a few weeks ago while in the worst of it, but wanted to “emotionally cool down” before posting it. I removed a lot of cuss words. A lot. But now, I feel ready to share my feelings…