Further confirming my desire to relocate to Iceland following my year abroad was the information found in this link, http://www.visindavefur.is/svar.php?id=2166, that mosquitos are not found in Iceland. Reykjavik, here I come. Apparently this is due to instability in the climate (i.e. rapid and unpredicted changes in temperature, not particularly conducive for the breeding of mosquitos). THANK GOD BECAUSE IT IS 4 IN THE MORNING AND THERE IS ONE, JUST ONE (just tried to kill it, it got away, of course), LEFT IN MY ROOM AND ALL I WANT TO DO IS GO TO BED. Thus, in my vastly paranoid, alert, and cold-sweaty state of mind, I will begin to explain my take on "The Stages of Psychosis of Homo sapien vs. Whatever Life Battle Is Thrown His/Her Way" using the extended metaphor of Man versus Mosquito.
Phase 1 - Gross Overconfidence:
This phase is commonly marked as the introductory phase to any sort of unbecoming endeavor a man may face. Humans are armed with the unwavering ability to be more sure of one's self than they should be when beginning to face a challenge seemingly trivial or mundane, in this case, simply killing a mosquito or two. I think to myself, "They're loud, they always land on white walls (thank god for that), and they're pretty fucking stupid, so smacking it with my shoe shouldn't take too long and then I can return to my previous state of dreaming about Agent Cooper from "Twin Peaks". Cool. " I step out of bed, crack my neck, whip out my Birkenstock, and say to myself, "Alright, suckers (pun intended), let's dance". Phase One is going great! They're loud, just as I predicted, and they always land on the white walls. Sitting targets. I have just killed the first mosquito and all is fine and dandy until I look at my shoe and what do I see my but my own...goddamn...blood. My own blood that my body produces. For me. So I can live. No, the amount of blood a single mosquito withdraws in one bite will not deplete me of enough blood to die. But it's the principle of it, damn it. That's my blood, and it's not about to become food or whatever for some larvae bed in a stagnant pool of water somewhere. I look up from my bloodied shoe, and I feel hellfire dance in my eyes. I reach for the warpaint, or in this case, bug spray, and it's game on.
Phase 2 - Pure Anger:
Does this really need further explication? I just saw my own blood in a scenario that wasn't getting a paper cut or donating at a blood drive, but rather, exploding out of the abdomen of blood-eating Culiseta longiareolata onto my new shoes. I'm a madwoman on a mission to kill.
Phase 3 - Vulnerability (Mental and Physical):
By now, I'm realizing I got more than I bargained for with this endeavor. It is now 3:30 in the morning, all I want to do is sleep. Despite my deep-seated fear of bedsheets that aren't mine, the bed looks amazing and it's calling my name. It's been an hour since the Hunt began, and there's still at least one more on the loose. I'm slowing down, my drive is dwindling, and I sense an early defeat. I have no one to turn to because who the hell is up at this hour anyways? In more ways than one, I realize I am alone. I am alone, I am tired, and I realize that the mosquito is still pining for my legs. I spray them down once more and proceed to put on long, loose pants and a shirt of a similar description. I do this in a strange preparation for defeat. I might as well just cut my losses and let this fiend have a few more goes at me from the comfort of my own bed. At least I'll be covered up. I sigh in dismay. I just want this to be over.
Phase 4 - Deterioration (Mental and Physical):
If you think sweating sucks, try living in Corrientes. It's winter and it was 90 degrees today. Therefore, covered head to toe in clothes to protect myself while running around my room trying to kill this mosquito, I begin to just pour sweat. I took my contacts out before I went to bed (two damn hours ago) so I am wearing my glasses. But not really because my face is sweating so much they keep sliding down the bridge of my nose and falling off. Not only is it distracting, but it is preventing me from keeping my eyes on the little deviant. I can't turn the fan on because then I can't hear the incessant buzzing of the mosquito, but I can't take my clothes off because then I will expose myself and subject myself to further bites. It's a vicious cycle happening, and I am beginning to lose it. At this point I'm pretty sure the little twerp is just taunting me. I bet it won't even bite me, but it's still buzzing around to keep me awake. It knows. It knows when I'm distracted, Googling answers on "How to lure bugs out of my bedroom" and "Homemade remedies to keep mosquitos away", and it will whiz past my ear, cackling as it flies by. As I hear it in my ear, half my body breaks out into horrid cold sweats of paranoia and fear. It's so incredibly hot and humid in my room, but I feel chilled nonetheless. I decide to call a truce. I say out loud, "Okay, mosquito, if I stop trying to kill you, you have to stop trying to bite me. Deal?" I don't know why I wait for a response, like a mosquito is going to say, "Yeah, sure, Gaby. Truce!" But in my heart of hearts I pray that somewhere in its antennae or brain-type organelle she can feel a trace of empathy for my plight as I feel for hers. After all, she is just fulfilling her biological role in the food chain and attempting to execute her duties as a mother. Though as an r-species she really doesn't care for her offspring since they can amount to numbers in the thousands. As this thought crosses my mind, I know I desperately, desperately need some sleep. I truly feel miserable.
Phase 5 - Divine Intervention (My host sister helps me):
My host sister had a dinner to go to tonight and returned in the knick of time. She came up the stairs and saw my light was still on, heard the crashes and the clamor coming from the room, and knocked on the door. She looks at me. I try not to think about what she is seeing right now. A deranged, sweaty girl with her glasses sliding down her face, hair in a rat's nest of a bun, wearing totally inappropriate clothes for the current weather, reeking of bug spray, and laughing (accidentally) kind of maniacally because she is so happy to see her come to help. Yes. I am a disheveled mess. Mora says to me, "It's so hot in here, you should turn on your AC. The bugs hate it."Okay, a good first step, I guess. I explain to her the events of my night, and she laughs and says, "Girl, you're gonna have to get used to it living here!" Goddamn it. But in the end, she helps me kill another bug, not the mosquito, but still another bug with the potential to bother me in the night. She tells me to go to bed and not worry about the mosquito. She goes to bed, and I am recharged with the anger that had previously raged within me.
Phase 6 - Control of Mental State and Eventual Triumph:
Reinvigorated with a sense of determination and passion, I rev my engine (though I'm definitely running on empty), I'm for real this time, and I'm gonna nab this sonofabitch. I develop a strategy. If I sit in one place and look at the same spot, eventually the bug will fly that way. We spar for a while, a series of hits and misses on my part, but as I graze the mosquito with my shoe here and there, it begins to lose coordination, making my job easier. At last, it lands on my wall, something it hasn't done in at least two hours, and I lunge, literally lunge for it. I am so desperate I smash into the wall with my entire body weight, and I KILL IT. A wave of relief rushes over me, and I am so elated. I smack it again for insurance, but that bad boy is d-e-a-d. I hate killing things, especially defenseless bugs like spiders and beetles and whatnot, and even mosquitos I feel bad for sometimes, but I couldn't have been more proud that I had persevered and killed that motherfucker. The cold sweats stopped, the paranoid looking-over-my-shoulder-type behavior that had become normal came to an end, and I could sit peaceably in my bed for a change. Then, I thought, "Hey, it's 5 AM, might as well blog about it". So here we are, until tomorrow night when a mosquito comes in my room and the Stages of Psychosis will start all over. But now, I have armed myself with a guide to handle the roller coaster of emotions that is killing a mosquito.
-G
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