Last night, a soliloquy.

So this happened last night…

This is the second night in two weeks that I’ve been mercilessly attacked by a pack (pack? swarm? herd?) of blood sucking mosquitos, waking up at 3am to my own hand relentless scratching my own body. I managed to detain two in the last hunt about a week ago, and one more tonight. But I’m still waiting on a fourth, which at this moment is circling my bed, timing out the perfect opportunity to strike again. I tried twice to end this battle, but it narrowly escaped my hand-clap tactics. And now I’ve lost visual. So I sit here, at three in the morning, lights on, waiting. Waiting for it to be visible again. Waiting for my chance to vanquish.

I’m using this week’s New Yorker as a weapon and sufficient reading material while I wait for the monster to surface. There’s an article in here telling the story of a young man (African American) who was sentenced to three years in prison by the Bronx County Criminal Court for allegedly stealing a backpack. A backpack! I hate reading stories about things like this. Had I gone to law school, studying these court cases about juvenile detention and minority discrimination would fire me up the most.

Now I’m tired AND sad and feeling more than slightly guilty for complaining about a tiny pesky mosquito.

No sign of the annoying bug. Maybe it went to sleep. Of course it went to sleep. It needs its energy to feast on my ankles and pinkie finger (and left arm and bottom of my right foot).

Tomorrow I’m going to find a philanthropy group that donates mosquito nets to developing countries. I wish I had more time to volunteer. I should rethink my life decisions.

It’s been 45 minutes and I have not seen it since my last attempt at smashing it against my wall. I fear going asleep. I fear staying awake. At this point in the standoff, all I can do is shut my eyes and hope that the bug is kind.

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