The Ants Keep Marching In...
Brief rant here. For the past month or so, my Grandmother’s storage closet in her kitchen has been bombarded by little, tiny, minuscule (shall I continue on with my list of synonyms for the word “small”, or do you get the point?) crawling devils that refuse to leave.
After discovering the source...blah, blah, I don’t currently have the stamina to go into detail about how this hive of monstrosities came to be. I’m only about halfway through my first cup of coffee, and my brain isn’t fully optimized until I’m at least 2/3 in, the sweet spot of coffee, if you will. If I drink more than that, I become a rambling lunatic; drink less, and I’m nearly comatose.
The ants. Yes, let’s get back to those demons. They. Keep. Reappearing. Following along in little trails along the side of the wall despite there not being any food there whatsoever. What are they after? What are their motivations, and why do they keep coming back to the same spot that seemingly provides no sustenance? Is it to mock me?
Is it the universe forcing an animal token into my life? I did google ants to double check - they apparently represent hard work, team effort, and strength. Strangely apropos symbolism to my life, so maybe this is some way for the Universe to get this message across, while also having a cosmic laugh at my building frustration.
If it’s a symbol, let it be known that I get it. I got the message weeks ago, actually, so I give them permission to leave, now.
You’re probably—whoever the hell “you” are. I still have no idea how this many people have stumbled upon this blog, but figure I’ll just go with it. Wow, I’m really getting lost in tangents here, due to my lack of caffeine intake. Let me temporarily remedy that...
Alright, I’m back. So, I would like to preface this small antidote by saying that I have a lot of respect for life. I’ve recently become a vegetarian (more like Pescatarian, but it sounds too much like the religion for me to use), and recently have become the bug/lizard savior in this home. I didn’t always used to be like this, mind you - I grew up utterly terrified of crawling creatures, and had my fair share of panic attacks from the oddities I was continuously exposed to. But let’s not rehash that trauma, and instead let it remained buried until another post.
I said all of this to let it be known that I don’t like killing things unless I have to. But if I have to, well, I’m fully capable of rising to the occasion.
One night, after I continuously sprayed vinegar upon vinegar bottle on the little cretins to no immediate avail, I figured it was finally time for the big guns of natural, chemical-free sprays: Apple Cider Vinegar.
And so, here I was, pouring a big jug into a nearly-empty spray bottle I was able to wrestle up after days of desperation at trying to find one. I was armed with my weapon of choice, ready to go in.
And yet, as I looked at this pile of innocent creatures, crawling around in a continuous line, I felt a pang of sympathy and decided to lower my bottle, vowing to live harmoniously with them, instead.
HAH! Just kidding.
I sprayed those fuckers like a madman, killing everything I could on sight, as I vigorously wiped away their dead, dying, and still-alive corpses with every ounce of vengeance I could muster. I found myself actually cackling as I did this, realizing the well-spring of blood-thirst that had secretly lived inside me my entire life. Well, it was activated now.
I became the Rambo of ant-killers, triumphing in my spectacular and psychotic methods of removal, even as they tried to frantically crawl away from my ACV, and my damp paper towel. No match for me! Hahahahah!!!!!
For that night, after my murder spree of invading ants, I found momentary peace. I was a triumphant warrior who’d defeated the battle, ready to rest and retire from my bloodshed. I went to bed that night with a sadistic smile on my face, thinking it was all over.
But NO! I woke up the next day and they were back! Not as many as before, but they were still there, taunting me. Like resurrected zombies that refused to back away! And so I continued to spray, and wipe, spray and wipe, on and on, growing more tired and lackluster as it went on.
They were fully eradicated, for a few days, but then came back in full force once again like they’d never left.
And so, here I am now, utterly exhausted and fed up. I’m back to my feelings of sympathy towards these creatures - the killing spree was merely a temporary sensation, which I’m slightly relieved by, to be honest, I was a bit of a monster. But now, with an exterminator coming in a few days, I’ve practically put away my murder weapons, and have instead accepted my inability to remove these random, moderately disturbing creatures.
Basically, like all things 2020, I’ve given in to my own desperations at forcing change. I’ll keep fighting for things that matter, but if something wants to keep invading my environment to this extent, no matter how much I want to wipe it away, there comes a point at which another method must be used. That is the definition of insanity, isn’t it? I’m actually asking, because I’ve heard people say this, but I feel like it’s not actually true: doing the same thing again, and again, and expecting different results.
I really don’t think that’s the definition, but let’s go with it for now so I can make my point.
If things aren’t working, you have to try something else.