The Mosquito Massacre of Aught Four

Our computer room is full of mosquitoes. Mom has this annoying habit of opening windows because it's hot outside. Why do we have air conditioning then?! A couple nights ago, I killed at least five mosquitoes with my Reader's Digest of Death. I call it that because of the insect carcasses that honor the back cover. Every time I saw a little bit of movement out of the corner of my eye, I'd flinch and grab the bottom left corner of the book, the only place safe for my hands to refrain from touching bug guts.

Last night, I didn't get to sleep until 4:00. Not because I was up writing on the blog, or because I was reading, no luxuries like that. I was up because I could hear it. I can't sleep when there's a mosquito in my room. It drives me crazy. I ended up falling asleep with the sheets up to my neck, even though it was 180 degrees Celsius(at my alma mater, they teach you that numbers don't mean anything without units).

You may think my hatred/fear of mosquitoes is unfounded, and perhaps even irrational. That's because it is. I have a good reason for that though. Mosquitoes killed my father, and raped my mother. Okay, that's not true (brownie points if you can name what tv series I'm paraphrasing). Actually I'm just extremely sensitive to their bites. First it starts out as a little itch. Within minutes the bite has blown up to the size of a swollen cow. Not only that, but it's red, and itchy. Earlier this summer, I was bitten seven times on my thigh, which made pants extrememly uncomfortable. I work at Dad's clinic though, so pants were a necessity. The only thing to aleviate my suffering is a metal tube of cortizone cream.

Mosquito bites are terrors even after they heal too. For some reason, they leave dark blotches on my skin. That always happens when I get hurt. I blame the Philippines. So now I'm reluctant to go out in shorts (or a shirt that covers my belly, because that was a mosquito buffet too) because of my self consciousness.

Lately I've upgraded from the Reader's Digest (which my dad is reading now. Ick!) to an actual fly swatter. I don't know where it came from, but it's a godsend. (Now I understand why my Mom used to freak out whenever Noona and I pressed the plastic part to our mouths. Double Ick!)

I was watching The Mask of Zorro on TV earlier. I got so caught up in the movie that during the commercials I found myself swatting at the mosquitoes like the fly swatter was a sword. I found myself poised and ready to attack at any moment. I found myself actually fencing. I had to stop when I realized what I was doing, because slicing a Z into your enemy's clothing with a fancy sword is so much cooler than slapping an L into a beige wall with a wire and flappy plastic. I didn't stop fighting though. Even now, the fly swatter sits at my side, ready to battle at any moment. I find I'm always looking around me while I type to keep watch. Actually I know there's one somewhere nearby, because it bit me while I was typing and I want REVENGE.

The score tonight: Mosquitoes - 1; Laura - 4