Mosquito bites

This movie title 'Reality bites' just popped up in my head. The 90's. A bunch of good-looking Hollywood actors in lumberjack shirts pretending they had problems, dancing in gas stations. I must have watched that movie in awe as a teenager with no need for gas stations. I didn't have a car or even a licence. I still haven't got either of those. Unlike the characters I had problems and pretended I didn't. Maybe I just didn't know those things were 'problems'. But like them, I wore a lumberjack shirt. I still wear it after I wash my hair in winter because somehow that fabric keeps the water away from my back.

I honestly have no clue what the movie was about, but it had a catchy soundtrack and I think Ethan Hawk or someone like him was hitting on Wynona Ryder. Perhaps it wanted to show how 'reality bites' you if you're young and perfect and you think you've got problems when you're actually having a blast while in love with the idea of looking a bit tormented. Anyway, I'm nowhere near the 90s anymore so I must have thought of that title due to these mosquito bites. 

You see, I can't fully relax in this place. Noone else here seems to have a problem with mosquito bites but me. I don't know if it is because they don't bite them, or because they bite them, but the bites don't itch or perhaps they itch, but they don't care or they care but they don't want to think about it. The reality is that for whatever reason that escapes my understanding I'm alone with these mosquitos. 

The first thing I did after being badly bitten was to complain, you have this sense of justice, you're minding your business, loving and respecting every insect on Earth and then 'ouch, but why?!' That cry wasn't heard, nor any balance restored so I had to fight. I set up mosquito repellent in every socket and spent a fortune on mosquito nets. I covered my bed with an impenetrable canopy. But they still managed to enter and bite me. I couldn't help but kill them. I broke my own rules and ethics and smashed the life out of them with fast hands and a guilty heart just to end up feeling tired, bitten and one of their kind. That's when I decided I'd let them bite me and pretend I was like everyone else here, that there was no itch. But it itched. So I believed the problem was me and stayed like that for a while, convinced I deserved each one of those bites.

One day that old sense of justice made me begin to question my beliefs and the researching started. I found out a lot about mosquitoes, where they came from and why they were actually biting me. I felt empathetic towards them and wanted to help, pointed them in the right direction, away from me. But they are mosquitoes at the end of the day and the truth is they've kept on biting me. Today it's really windy in this place. I've opened the windows and the mosquitoes seem to have disappeared. I know they are there, though. I know because I see the bites and I remember other windy days and how after the west wind left, they came and bit again. You see, I can't fully relax in this place. I'm alone with these mosquitos.