Being in San Francisco for so long, I have become accustomed, mentally and physically, to a substantially less aggravating environment than I had previously known. Being in Massachusetts – hot, muggy Massachusetts – again, I am recalling some of the things that I had left behind – some bad, some good. One thing that I had all but forgotten was mosquitoes; we don’t really get noticeable numbers of mosquitoes in South of Market, San Francisco. Being here, and it having been raining recently, the mosquitoes were out in full force, while I was working on my boat’s trailer. As such, my sweet, delicious, George-blood has been consumed by a great many foul little beasts that have left behind their horrendous, anti-coagulating, inflammation-inducing, antigens of pain.
I’m not sure if my memory is soft and mosquitoes have always been this unpleasant, if I used to be more adept at avoiding their painful bites, or if I had once developed a tolerance to their venom that has since subsided. However it may be, I hate mosquitoes far more now than I recall hating them in the past.
I’m pretty sure that mosquitoes, like sand fleas, are something that I wouldn’t mind sacrificing entire food chains to see go extinct.