I’m afraid of bugs. Really afraid. Irrationally afraid, as most rational people are. Don’t try to explain to me that bugs are harmless. Whatever sends me in a hysterical fit that makes your hysterical ex look like a sensible, calm and balanced person is the opposite of harmless.
In latest news, the bugs of the world are closing in on me. They have united for a common goal: to kill me. Or, at least, to make me quit smoking because they aggregate at the balcony which I use solely for smoking. I put up a BEWARE OF INSECTICIDE sign but the bugs ignore it because they are dumb. Or they are clever and know that I’m too scared of them to use insecticide on them because it doesn’t kill instantly.
It started creepily with a creepy spider. It would creep out on the balcony each night, for several nights in a row, and disappear with the morning dawn. I’m not sure that I want to know where it went at daytime. Probably to the nearby cemetery to sleep in a coffin because it was obviously a vampire spider. Not only did it prefer the night but it also sucked, that’s why.
Then the spider disappeared for good and my balcony graduated to a moth. While I could tolerate the spider without excessive hysterics, a moth is more than I can bear. That’s what I’m most scared of. The trouble with moths is that, like me, they are hysterical and suicidal. You know how they spend their whole lives madly fluttering around a source of light until they merge with it only to get incarcerated.
The moth also frequented the balcony for several nights in a row. Its presence didn’t prevent me from smoking but reduced me to a ruin. I’d smoke with my eyes fixed on the moth, lest it should move and come for me. At one moment, I thought it was actually plunging itself at me and I jerked so hard and fast that I pulled a muscle in my shoulder.
Totally freaked out, I looked at my hand and thought the moth was sitting on it. Of course, I started flailing frantically, agitating the moth that was actually sitting on the wall, and then I realised the dark something on my hand was my tattoo.
Ready to die from fear, I quickly slid inside, making sure the moth didn’t follow. Unnerved to the extreme, the first thing when I was inside was to step on the cat, who has the bad habit of being always under my feet. I screamed, the cat screamed (nothing happened to her, she’s such a drama queen) and I proceeded to take an anti-anxiety pill. Not minding what I’m doing, I nearly took a sleeping pill instead.
It’s not like I’m for genocide but please, universe, make all moths die. It’s either them or me.