The Ordinary Times

It is a fight, though not an honorable one.

Tineola bisselliella is the name of the common clothing moth, and I’ve got a whole bunch of them. My new room in my new house, and these jerks aren’t leaving. It makes me mad, the way they sit on the ceiling, out of reach. It reminds me of Puerto Rico in a way, the tall walls with small bugs hanging out on them, but there I expected it, adapted to it. Here, I’m upset, pissed off. I swear at them, and they swear back at me, leaving smear marks where I’ve hit them with an old Harper’s. The handsome, tanned man on the back cover’s airline advert has been thoroughly mangled with the (what I’m sure to be) acidic guts of these moths, these bastards. I don’t know what to do. I’ve pulled everything out of the closet, even the carpeting, and they’re still appearing in there, hanging out like it’s a place to be. What makes me more angry, their presence or my intolerance of their very being? What are they really doing, I wonder, when they reappear after dark. What harm can they do? None is the logical answer, but hearing them flit about in the dark makes me squirm under my sheets. They land on my clothes, my skin – just who the fuck do you think you are? Cedar is the natural choice to turn them away, but the more they persevere, the more I consider risking cancer and odor with chemicals. I truly hate them.