they crouch silently on the walls, in the dark. they form posses on the screen door, springing away in a flurry of beating wings, whenever you enter or exit. they divebomb my face, waking me, burrowing their wings into my ears. i smack the side of my head before i'm awake enough to realize what's happening.
the moths and i, we are at war. amazing how quickly i attribute human qualities to in-human creatures or object the moment they begin to inconvenience me. the moths are evil. the moths are out to get me. the moths lie in wait for me. i seal all windows and doors, entombing myself in the apartment. i systematically target one moth after another, armed with an empty arby's soda cup and an unopened piece of junk mail. once captured in the cup, i fling them out the window. i sweep my eyes over every room i enter, narrowing in on their dark bark-colored bodies with Terminator-like focus.
it occurs to me that perhaps i am descending into madness. it occurs to me that perhaps i am capturing and releasing the same moths that i just captured and released minutes ago. but it's too late for reason. as i write these words, they hurl themselves at my window- ping, ping, ping. i am at the point where i flinch and jump when a hair from my own head falls across my skin because it feels identical to the brush of a moth's wing. my arby's cup and i, we are ready.
proof that this is not all in my head: the abq moth invasion has been reported on in the news. if it's on tv, it's got to be true ("Mothageddon").
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