132: Revelations on the flies

Sometimes when you sit down to write, there is just not much there that you are actually willing to share. Everything that has happened lately is leading up to really big decisions that are my-tiny-little-world shaking. While these are not huge events for the national news feed at 11 pm, they are still pretty significant events to me, personally. They don’t have to make the news in order to be noteworthy. At least, not to me. Yes, I am aware of things that are happening in the world, and I recognize that many of these other things make my personal issues virtually insignificant. I know that. I am not someone who is convinced that this universe hinges and turns around MY existence – I know better than that, and I am not that egotistical. Nobody CARES if I got my jollies last night, and nobody CARES whether I face today with a joyful heart or a depressed spirit. Well, almost nobody, anyway. There actually are a few people on this planet who give more than a second’s thought to my well-being,  and those folks are very precious people to me, too.

Each day, lately, is filled with too many competing things. Clean this messy apartment. Cook some food for lunches next week. Doctor the new kitten. Catch up on my grading papers stack. Relax and get a nap. Shop for what we’ve used up. Plan my lessons for next week. Blog. Get a bath and shave my hairy legs. Facebook. Take my medicine, so I don’t kill anybody (!). Create an artwork from the sketchbook of ideas. Read a book from the “must read” stack (I have several stacks). Veg. Exercise, go for a walk, take pictures, pick up firewood starter. Cuddle with my kitties.   And none of these things address any of the real issues.

Our apartment in Morocco, like most other homes in this country, has no window screens, so when the weather is nice and the windows are open to take advantage of that, the flies take advantage, too, and come inside to explore food smells – and other smells. Lately, I have killed dozens and dozens of them a day – sometimes in one session. Like the zombie apocalypse, many swatted flies need a “double tap.” It has occurred to me as I embark on yet another fanatical fly-killing spree that the flies are, in some respects, much like the humans who wander into dangerous territory and encounter some disaster – like a fly swat. They are wounded, but not out – yet. Now, it has become a survival episode. I have lamed flies crawling desperately on the kitchen floor, looking for a safe place: like wounded and stranded hikers, or grizzly-mauled sportsmen. I wonder – do the ones who make it tell stories for the rest of the flies about their experiences? OK, I’m sick, mentally deranged and perverted. They are just flies – hardly significant life forms – except to their fly parents, and siblings, and friends. Jeff Goldblum would relate to this mindset, I am sure. Several fly couples I have sent off to the happy hunting grounds while they were engaged in marital relations with their spouses – or would that be illicit affairs with their co-workers? I AM sick, because I had absolutely no compunctions about ruining what should have been a joyous experience.  Does this tell me something about MY marital experience, that I so gleefully dispatch others in the middle of experiencing theirs? I don’t THINK so……..my husband, reading over my shoulder, is worried………

However, the daily, sometimes hourly, drama of the flies does make me reflect upon the intransigence of life, and how little it seems to matter when one of us is hurting to the rest of us who are plugging along and doing OK. These struggling flies, many of whom I “double tap” into the hereafter (IS there a heaven for flies??) make me wonder about the cosmic being (that would be God) who observes all of the goings-on that occur on this planet (and possibly the others He has also created). Jeepers – re-reading this makes me wonder about ME.

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