dead bodies everywhere

it's high summer here in delaware. the corn is sweet, the tomatoes ripe, and in the afternoon the chorus of cicadas rises and falls.

and the cicada killers are here. cicada killers are wasps that excavate small, gopher-like holes in dry, sunny soil. in this burrow, the female lays an egg and then goes on the hunt for cicadas. she stings the poor fuckers, flips them on their backs, drags them back to the hole and then seals it up. when the wasp egg hatches, the voracious larvae's got a meal right there.

seriously icky, eh?? well consider a whole yard overrun by these creepy little creatures. mounds of dusty soil everywhere, punctuated by creepy little holes. the garden looks like fucking Desert Storm.

to make matters worse, we've got a cicada killer who rides the short bus. this individual persists in digging holes in the cracks of the stone steps leading to the front door, holes that she later discovers are TOO SMALL to accommodate her victims' bodies, which end up either stuck ineffectually in the entrance to the burrow, or littered across the steps where i tromp on them when go out to hang the laundry. here's our Short Bus Killer at work:


the only solace i can take is that her larva won't survive. thank god for natural selection.

met with sir rudy yesterday, who decreed another 2 weeks off running. his probing Fingers of Steel found 2 superficial tears in my hammie, and one more serious, deep-seated one -- probably the culprit responsible for the original despair and compensatory damage.

again, his ministrations called forth involuntary oaths and sweating. when i sat up, a wet pool in the shape of my body remained.

-- quit sweating on our tables, rudy said. jerk.
-- quit beating the crap out of me, i retorted. sadist.

i am in love with rudy the way you're in love with your therapist, or the tech guy who saves your ass when your hard drive fries.

have a good weekend, all. i'm starting mine early. it's mother-fucking booze time.