For the last two nights I’ve had a mosquito in my apartment.  I lie in bed, manage to fall asleep and then wake up scratching some poor patch of skin that was left unguarded by my comforter.  I hear it buzzing in my ear, but I’m reluctant to turn on the lights and risk totally waking up.  Instead I usually switch sides on the bed and hope I confuse it and fall asleep again while it’s confused and then fall into such a deep sleep that I don’t wake up when the mosquito inevitably bites me again.

There was a time when I had tons and tons of mosquitoes in my room.  I think it was the winter of 06, which was pretty warm (I think.)  Back then I would flick the light on and smash the mosquitoes lined up on my walls with my bare palm–if you’re serious about getting a mosquito, your hand is your best weapon.  It’s hard when there’s only one mosquito bothering me to really work up the need to kill it.  I was at a party this weekend, and we discussed how it’s actually not very fun to kill insects (except for roaches.)  I think it’s too easy to see how there are bigger forces out there that could kill me in a second and I’m only existing because of their benevolence, and I want to show insects the same generosity that’s been shown to me.

I never had this mosquito problem in the suburbs.