It's housefly season here in good ole Michigan. They stayed away pretty much all summer, only making their annoying and disgusting presence known on rare occasions where they could easily be killed and disposed of. However, a couple weeks ago their population exploded and I'm about to lose it.
I hate houseflies. I hate them more than just about anything. They're the Hitlers of the insect world. Evil beings bent on driving me insane until I slit my wrists to get their annoying high pitched buzzing out of my head.
I hate the way that they wake me up in the morning by swarming my widow as soon as the sun shows it's face.
I hate the way they die and insist on leaving their bodies all over the floor for me to step on.
I hate that I can't turn a light on anywhere in the house without at least two swarming around it and driving me insane when I all I want to do is read.
I hate that I can't watch a movie without them rudely walking across the screen.
And I hate the fact that no matter how much I vacuum them up, live or dead, there's always more and they never go away. And just a casual reading of Wikipedia brings up why there's so many: "Each female fly can lay approximately 500 eggs in several batches of about 75 to 150." Jesus. That's a lot of damn flies. Even if you count the number that get eaten by birds, frogs, fish, and spiders that's still a lot of flies. You could kill them all day and they'd still be around, waiting to puke on your food when you're not looking or to at least walk on it with their shit covered feet. And yes, they do eat by puking up stomach acid and primarily eat shit and rotting garbage. Think about that next time you see one. And then smash the little fucker for me.
But anyways, I think the reason that I hate them the most is that they remind me of my own mortality. Their lives are just as dull and pointless as my life. They're born, they eat garbage, they mature and eat shit and more garbage, they fuck, procreate, and die. That's if they survive to do those things. And so what if they do? Their only purpose is to continue the species and provide food for other larger creatures. Humans may be smarter than all the other animals but we're still animals, nature still doesn't give a fuck about us. It's still a scrabble to survive, one that can be cut short whenever fate feels like it. It's just as much a crock of shit for us as it is for leeches and hag fish and bedbugs. I don't like to be reminded of it constantly.
So they're lying there with their little black bodies dead on the windowsill when I'm trying to make some food, or their pointlessly buzzing around my light when I'm trying to get into some book to escape my pointless dull life and their buzzing is a constant reminder of my own unavoidable death and it depresses me and makes me feel dirty at the same time. Plus they insist on dive bombing me like they really do hate me. You ever have one stuck in your hair and you can't get it out? Angrily buzzing as it tangles it self more and more and you just want to fucking die?
God I hate houseflies. At least my cat eats them. When he can catch them. And when he feels like it.
And no, I didn't miss the irony of them crawling around on the screen as I tried to watch The Fly tonight. Just in case you were wondering.
Mood: Annoyed
Current Fantasy Girl: Asia Argento
Current Song I Would Play for my Friends (If I Had Any): Butthole Surfers - Sweat Loaf
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