Last night I went on a mission. Not one of my own choosing mind you, but one that needed to be accomplished before I turned in for the night because I knew that if I didn’t
a restful sleep would not come my way.
A moth had found its way into my bedroom coming from some teeny tiny crevice between my window frame and the screen and proceeded to flutter back and forth in front of my television set
distracting me. So, I calmly removed myself from the comfort of my bed, rolled up a magazine and swung with flailing but intended purpose
but the wily critter was too quick for me. That is until he landed with aplomb in the middle of a wall in my en suite
where I smacked him proper.
And I felt no remorse.
I’ve never liked moths. I’ve never found them romantic or mysterious or beautiful in any way. At least not the ones who have obtrusively fluttered into my private space. I wish I could consider them in the same metaphorical sensitivities as Virginia Woolf:
“the possibilities of pleasure seemed that morning so enormous and so various that to have only a moth’s part in life, and a day moth’s at that, appeared a hard fate, and his zest in enjoying his meager opportunities to the full, pathetic.”
Or the thematically intellectual consideration they’re given in A.S. Byatt’s “Angel’s and Insects”.
No, instead I find them bothersome, ugly, little creatures who pay no attention to where they propel themselves often bumping against my head, or worse yet against my television screen.
Moths were prolific on the farm. One year I remember consistently sweeping five or six out of that space between the car door and the frame where they must have crawled in to keep warm during the night. In fact one morning I missed one and half way into town it started flying around the inside of the car. One of the sisters kept smacking me on the shoulder telling me to “kill it”.
And I was the one who was driving.
I’ve tried to appreciate them entomologically speaking. I’ve been to “butterfly” parks and visited the “bug” sections in libraries and museums. I find the obnoxiously large ones interesting, and truly do admire the patterning on a few. But the dull, brown powdery ones that inhabit my space of the world do nothing but annoy me….
and leave nasty brown stains on my newly painted wall when smooshed with a magazine….