It's too late in the year for mosquitoes. But the few surviving mosquitoes remain doggedly unaware of this. We are now in the nightmarish time of 'the lone mosquito'.
When there are lots of mosquitoes, one becomes used to the massed buzzing, blots it out - may even be soothed into sleep by the gentle background bbbzzzzzzzzz. Or one may summon the energy to actually take precautions, dig the bug-zappers out of the bottom cupboard and plug them in. With just one, it never seems worth the effort. After all, what harm can a lone mosquito do?
Well, for one thing, emboldened by finding themselves in sole possession of the huge ranges of your apartment, they start indulging that little trick of flying right up to your ear. There seems to be some kind of rigid rule of mosquito etiquette that you shouldn't do this when other mosquitoes are present. Perhaps they are all modest creatures at heart, unwilling to assert alpha status over their peers. But when these social constraints are removed, oh yes, the ear becomes an irresistible beacon to the lone mosquito; approaching oh so slowly, only very gradually tightening, lowering its circles around your head; lower and lower and lower, louder and louder and LOUDER (bbbzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!) until finally..... it is directly above the entry to your ear canal, poised to plunge inside - like 'Star Wars' Rebels making a suicidal bombing run on the Death Star.
You hesitate to try to swat the pesky critter at this point, for fear of batting it deep down inside your ear and getting it stuck there, beating its frantic little wings right against your eardrum until it finally expires many days later. (I have touched on my paranoid streak before.)
Indeed, you hestitate to swat them at any time - something recoils at the idea of the huge splodge of your own blood on the wall that will result. And with the lone mosquito, that splodge will be HUGE. How many times can one mosquito bite you? There appears to be no limit. I think last night's visitor got me at least a dozen times. I pictured the greedy little bastard lumbering through the air with its bloated belly fat and round and red as a cranberry.
Another night of insomnia. Another array of itchy facial blemishes.
I'm going to dig those bug-zappers out of the cupboard.