Last night I killed things with Baygone that I never knew
existed. Armored bugs with thick legs, delicate looking moths, a creature that
looked like it was caught half way through metamorphosis and still belonged in
water. I indiscriminately killed all of them. I didn’t care. They were in my
face. They were in my food. They were in my bed.
My murderous rage occurred after they so graciously held a
welcoming reception for me in my house after I arrived home after dark. Instead
of lovingly embracing them I lashed out with pent up fury and gloated over them
as they met their untimely death. I hunted them down and performed a victory
dance over their lifeless exoskeletons. I dumped their bodies outside with
unnecessary amounts of flourish.
You know the scene in Office Space where they destroy the
copier? I channeled that rage, but with an aerosol can instead of a bat. Same
theme song.
I have been in Mibicuri for two weeks now. Apart from
watching cheesy teen flicks, this has become my entertainment.
I write this from the sanctuary of my mosquito net, for
beneath it I am safe from the retribution that their friends and family wish to
inflict on me. Inside my pemethrin soaked cocoon I am blissfully unaware of the
happenings beyond the scope of my headlamp.
Beneath my mosquito net I read novels of other’s adventures,
journal about mud and sweat, dream about Mexican food, and watch movies
starring teenagers from the Disney channel.
Beneath my mosquito net I feel the brunt of my new life. The
enormity of two whole years, the elation felt from small victories,
homesickness, joy of new acquaintances, contentment and doubt are all the
things that my net cannot keep out.
Beneath my mosquito net I am recharged. I find the resolve
to start each day anew, and the determination to make a difference.
