Murder

I am thinking of committing murder. No, not him. Well, ok, not murder, insect-icide. Against wasps. Not the much maligned White AngloSaxon Protestants who created and made this country great. (Ask yourself: what other group could have done it?) No. Two families of paper wasps have taken up residence on my back porch, in nests made of hexagons, like the Devil's Post Pile.

I left them alone because they left me alone. But there are more of them now and I am getting a little resentful of having to share the small space I have out there. I did knock down the smaller and more open nest the other day. Just a few in there and they flew away. But the bigger group, about a dozen or so, live inside the lantern right outside my back door. They've had some decent insect life and will die off, except the queen, when it gets cold...I may do them in tonight and take back my porch.

Re my usual murder prospect. I am clearer and a little saner, --my mom was surprisingly kind and helpful on the phone this morning--but I still watch the merry-go-round of feelings that breaking it off with B has provoked. One of them is surely anger. And one form of the anger is for letting me experience so much happiness but then always putting a limit on it.

 B's spirit animal. Really.

Maybe it should be mine, too. 
I think I've earned it.

I know what it is to have resentment against a lover, former lover, for being actively hateful. What makes me so mad about B sometimes is that he was elusive.