Mosquitoes= Bastards

Everyone has a mortal enemy (except Bart Simpson, he has two). I have a species.

I hate mosquitoes. Blindingly. I wish they would all just die and if they did, I'm sure the rest of the world would be happier. Even spiders that eat them can get by on flies. They are bastards and there's not a good one in the bunch. They wouldn't give you a quarter to call an ambulance if you were on fire. They're all girls and somehow that makes them meaner. They are living proof that a girl can be a bastard. Their name sounds like a good Mexican dish but they are actually very very bad. They carry diseases and they fly in your ear. If they weren't bastards they wouldn't do that.

I've gotten little to no sleep this week. Instead of sleep, which I need, I have a new routine, which I don't need. It usually begins the precise moment I'm in bed about to drift off.

ZZZZZZZZ! Right in the ear!

The hunt is on! Now I'm up, the light is switched on and I've got a menacingly powder blue flyswatter in my hand. My stance is like a Jack Kirby drawing and my eyes are like the Terminator. I can see little digital readouts in them, I swear.

I stare and I stare but can't find anything. I prowl the bedroom all hunched over because Wolverine would be all hunched over. Maybe not Hugh Jackman but in the comics, you better believe he'd be hunched over. I'm useless at this but I'm too angry to back down. I look for backup. Renee gets bitten and just sleeps through it. The cats think it's cute that bugs fly all crazy. I'm on my own.

I finally spot the bug on the wall. It's dancing on the wall! I'm suffering and this bastard is prancing in my misery! Well I've got you. I'm locked onto you. You're mine. For about a foot.

Where the fuck did it just go? Seriously, now I know it's in here. How does it disappear when I'm looking right at it? I've had laser surgery, my eyes are good. What kind of interdimensional travel does the mosquito use?

I give up and go back to sleep. For about twenty minutes. I wake up again with an itchy sensation on the back of my knee. Itchy and somehow hot. I twist around and stare at my leg in the grey darkness (when you live near street lights, grey is as dark as it gets). Nothing there, then a little red spot, then the familiar yellow bump. The calling card of the master blood thief. Damn you, mosquito!

That's when the paranoia sets in. Every sensation on my skin now feels like another mosquito. This time I got you, I think. And I slap myself where the phantom mosquito seems to be. So now I'm up all night hitting myself for no reason. I decide this is crazy and ignore the next one. Which is, of course, the one where the mosquito actually bites me. Cunning move, mosquito. You win this round.

About six am the sun is coming up. I've finally fallen asleep and am having a vivid dream that I'm being chased by flying needles.

ZZZZZZ! Right in the ear! Again! Didn't you learn your lesson?

But this time there is light. This time I see you. This time I have no reflexes. I slap the wall lamely about a foot from where the insect is and pass out again.

Oh, now it's time for work. I rise in the comfort of knowing my day will completely suck. I look around again. There are no mosquitos anywhere. It's as though they never existed. It would be eerie if it didn't piss me off so much.

Here's a whole site about mosquitoes. The more I understand them, the more I hate them.

Screw you, mosquitoes!!