Flesh Eating Monsters of the South

Tuesday October 26

Sitting on my back portch taking a momentary break from work. It is hot and muggy today which makes it more difficult than ever to get anything done. Not to mention Nick's constant yelling and the sound of him dancing around inside the house to add an additional distraction to my day.

I wish I was at the beach. It's a wonderful beach day.

The neverending warm weather means dealing with my pesky little mosquito friends. Why is it that bugs love to bite me so much? The window in my room is broken so I woke up the other night in the midst of being eaten alive by a hungry hourd or buzzing flesh eaters. Not pleasant. The resulting bites on my arms and legs reminded me so much of my horrible San Diego bed bug disaster - thank you Clint Grounds - that I changed all my sheets and bedding and sprayed down the room.

Of course - since there are no screens in my windows - spraying down the room meant staying out of it for several hours. Which led me to the porch - which resulted in additional buggy bites. To say the least - I'm itchy.

Can you get sick from bug bites? I mean beyond malaria and west nile virus? Can you just get regular sick from it? Becuase I haven't felt well the past few days and maybe that is why.

Short Story - Part 2

Aimee thought about a cigarette. Instead she put a piece of doughnut in her mouth. This was going to have to stop. She realized she was going to need a new form of distraction. Quitting smoking was one thing, but she wasn’t quite willing to become the incredible hulk in exchange for healthy lungs. Maybe she would take up knitting, doubt it. Running? Not in this heat. She took a long drink from her iced coffee and considered swimming as a new form of exercise. But the only swimming she liked to do was when she had to jump in the water to cool off after a long day of laying in the sun or drinking on Sam’s boat.

Sam. Her body tensed at the thought of him. Maybe she would just start smoking again.

“How is it going?” she asked the young mechanic working on her car outside the coffee shop.

Apparently the owner of Coffee Villa had a nephew that worked over at the Auto Smart a block over, she had called him up and twenty minutes later the hood of Aimee’s car was popped open and a boy who didn’t look older than 16 was tinkering away on her engine.

“Damn” she thought, feeling sorry for herself for the millionth time that day. “I hope he doesn’t break anything.”

She felt too rude to ask the boy, or the shop owner, if he knew what he was doing. But she really did prefer to leave this town in the next hour and she did not want to delay that departure time any longer than necessary.