(no subject)
It's just me and the ants. Will someone please explain to me why/how this is going on? I love on he 22nd floor of a (ridiculously nice) apartment building. They've been here for who knows how long--probably since before I got here. I killed the ones in the kitchen--twice. But they're in the living room, too. It's not like there's food lying about. Some dishes in the sink, maybe. Some fragrant (i.e. overripe) bananas wrapped up in a brown bag on the kitchen counter. Funny thing is they haven't really bothered me yet. I've spread myself out on the floor to read and such before, then noticed the ants around me, but I have no bites that I can see/feel. Trouble is I'm a bit hairy--meaning, I have hair on my stomach, legs, chest, arms that (especially after being matted down due to sleeping, sitting, etc.) moves a little, feeling, you guessed it, like a little ant crawling across wherever. So I'm on edge about this shit. Then again, I do sometimes fantasize that the ants are just friendly cohabitators--my only true companions in this summer of city solitude. Sometimes I just hang over the side of the couch and stare at them mulling about in the carpet. Why the living room of all places!? Shouldn't they be congregated in the kitchen? Maybe my dad left an uneated pork chop under the radiator or something. Stranger fucking things have happened.
Alright, well, I just wanted to share my ant story. Time to make breakfast and do excessively lonely things for the rest of the day. Bah humbug.
Alright, well, I just wanted to share my ant story. Time to make breakfast and do excessively lonely things for the rest of the day. Bah humbug.