Can't Fight The Skeeters

"The best blood will at some point get into a fool or a mosquito."

Austin O'Malley

Mosquitoes crave the blood of Hebrews. There's no denying this fact. Something about our delicious Semitic spiciness converts our veins into insect ambrosia. And I, my friends, have become a kosher buffet.

My battle with the winged residents that replicate faster than I can swat them into oblivion has been hard fought, with gains measured in inches, not miles. At first my bedroom was straight up skeeter territory, owing mostly to the proximity of the open well we have in the downstairs office area of my house. This is a standard Sri Lankan design style, reminiscent of a time when water was drawn from your own personal well dug deep into the foundation of your home. Along with the life-providing dihydrogen oxide, however, it also happens to be a well-populated mosquito breeding ground.

I'm running out of places to hide. When I take a shower they're there, having flown in through the window. When I go to the bathroom, I live in constant fear that my precious man parts will be laid to waste by their insatiable blood lust. But worst of all, when I sleep...oh heaven save me when I sleep...with my defenses relaxed, the little buggers go to town. My face is more ripped up than that of a 14-year-old proactiv addict. 

Now I know what you're going to say - get a net, dumbass. And you're probably right, I should've gotten a net, but frankly I finally got the mosquito problem under control until just recently. With a daily regimen of DEET-to-doorway application and hermetically sealing the clean air in my room, I was able to trap the beautiful air conditioned environment as was...with the minimally invasive side effect of two months of man smell being stuck in here too. It's ok though, I don't ever entertain so whatevs.

My first application was treacherous. As I sprayed the bug-b-gone up on the top the door jam, I smiled expectantly, ready to see the fruits of my labors in action. Of course, I forgot that gravity still works in Sri Lanka and I got a face full of 30%-by-volume poison mist in my eyes and mouth. This stung my mucous membranes as much as my pride, but it worked like a charm for a while. Now the mosquitoes are back in force, and I think the dog dragged in some kind of man-eating aphids that have begun swarming my desk area and generally bothering the hell out of me.

The good news is that I'm dealing with the clouds of biting death way better than I usually do. Maybe I can get out of this being a bit more resistant to skeeter attack. And besides, it's not like this is a malaria or a dengue zone or anything.

Wait, it is a dengue zone? Well crap.