ladybugs

Our bedroom is becoming a graveyard for ladybugs. First, they infested our house. I then bought one of those pest control devices that emits sound waves inaudible to humans which keeps them away. I think it worked — anyway, they’re lying dead in drifts on top of the radiator. One feels an odd nostalgia at the sight of all these dead Symbols of Cuteness. One gets a grip and gets over it quickly, though.

With the approach of winter, like now, the angle of the sun becomes such that, in the afternoons, it shines directly into the bedroom. With the oak tree having shed its leaves, it is bright enough to hide from. So I hide. And type in the semi-darkness, with the cats slung about, arranged in slumber.

How many people besides me pay attention to the angle of the sun at their house? How many know where their drinking water comes from? Does their electricity come from a coal-fired plant? Hydroelectric? Nuclear power? There are too many things for one ever to be fully aware of one’s life.