i hate mosquitoes!

I hate mosquitoes.

I really do.

Someone who read a previous post (detailing a particularly traumatic ordeal with some moths,) asked if I too followed her general supposition that they are plotting to take over the world. Well I don't know about moths, but mosquitoes...

I've had enough. I go to sleep. Nothing untoward. I wake up. I'm covered in itchy remnants of a sneak attack. Today, one of them must have found my hand particularly tasty cos it had swollen up so much I lost some feeling in my pinky. (apologies for the gross pic)

I wouldn't mind, but they seem to be making it personal.

When I went to Bali, I came back with one bite, whereas my Taiwanese friends came back with an average of twenty each. But here, it's the total opposite. My roommates are bite-free!

Later I headed to some classes. In the second one we were given five minutes in which to write a narrative lead for a theoretical feature story, in which we were reporting on our experience of visiting the tents that had been set up at the scene of a plane crash in Indonesia. So I did it.

A few of us were asked to write our leads on the board so we could go over pros and cons.

After the teacher read mine he turned to me and asked, 'do you want to be a journalist, or a movie writer.' To which one of my friends replied, 'it's okay, she's just high.' And then another friend called to me, 'don't worry, we don't need to be journalists, we can join forces and write horror novels.'

Not exactly the response I had expected. (But with the benefit of hindsight, I guess I can get a little over dramatic at times.)

Here is the offending article:

“A young boy sits by the entrance. Glazed. Staring intently into nothingness. Blood on his once white shirt barely distinguishable through the smoke stains and dirt.

Time seems to stand still.

Somewhere in the distance; blood curdling screams from a heart being broken by the loss of a loved one.

Somewhere close; weeping, screaming and deafening silence from injured parties.

The smell of smoke lingers in the air, mingled with blood and intensified by the humidity.

Time seems to stand still as your head catches up with your senses.

Then suddenly, the reality of the crash hits you.

Everything speeds up.”

In my defence, if someone doesn't want you to use your imagination, they shouldn't ask you to. I don't often get the chance and figured I might as well go for it. What was the worst that could happen?

Maybe, being accused of being high...