"'I am well in body although considerably rumpled up in spirit, thank you, ma'am,' said Anne gravely. Then aside to Marilla in an audible whisper, 'There wasn't anything startling in that, was there, Marilla?'" -L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables
"…ear, eye, and mind were alike strained by dread: such dread as children only can feel." -Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
The above quotations quite perfectly sum up how I am feeling in the very moment in time. The title of this post should easily explain why that is. Yes, somewhere in my apartment there is a mosquito wandering about. I can't see it right now, - and believe me, I have looked - it seems to have disappeared. This isn't some magical mosquito with the ability to apparate or something (wow, there's a terrifying thought), it's just a regular-sized mosquito and my apartment is a fairly large place for something so small. So it is gone. Except not really.
Nope, that mosquito is just hiding in some dimly-lit corner biding its time. When I'm least expecting it or have finally forgotten about its existence, it will reemerge and freak me out. I am not looking forward to that moment. So I am considerably rumpled in spirit right now and not afraid to admit it. Particularly as I live on the 19th floor of my apartment building and am unable to fathom how this mosquito managed to make it up so many stories in late March - it's not exactly prime mosquito season. The entire situation is just so improbable. And annoying. And unpleasant. It's like this incredible metaphor for life: What can possibly - and impossibly - go wrong will go wrong.
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