My own little red army

I've rid myself of the idiot box... yes, I don't watch it anymore. However, that doesn't mean I don't get bothered anymore. As luck would have it, my sister lives with me now, occupying the other room in my two-bedroom apartment. And she's here constantly. And guess what she does the whole day? Yep... she's a couch potato, either surfing the net or watching television.

With her watching television the whole day, I'm getting almost nothing done. I may not watch the shows with her, but I could hear it, which is pretty much enough to distract me from whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing. Sometimes, I go into isolation mode, locking myself up in my room, but my apartment is tiny so I still hear the television or her laughing her ass off in the living room. It's getting to me.

Take right now for example, I should be updating my CV, coming up with new material for our brochure, planning out my day tomorrow, but with this reality show blaring into my ears, I can't think straight. Thanks to the boob tube, I've been reduced to... well, an idiot. I usually start off fine, but my brain turns to mush when I hear some stupid remark or catch some cleavage (or a pair of really long legs) on television. The train of thought suddenly gets derailed and I'd have to walk all the way back to the terminal and catch another one.

It gets worse when the shows go into commercial breaks. Commercials are 30-second ads, meaning they have to catch your attention in that short span of time so they can tell you to buy something. Well, they're doing a fantastic job, and I end up watching more commercials than getting anything else done.

I can't even begin to tell you how frustrating this is.

*****

Since I couldn't get any work done, I went to my default mode, which is to go daydreaming my time away. It went well for a while, until a single tiny red ant bit my big toe. It was still there, chomping down when I lifted my foot up to inspect the bug and when I picked it off my skin, it had a quizzed look, kinda like asking me what the heck I was doing. I mercifully threw him to the floor, and it walked off to the nearest object of nutrition it could find. Me again. Just like the ingrate that it was, it proceeded to climb onto my flip-flops and was about to have another biteful just as I picked it up again (it still had that "what's the big idea?" look on it). This time, I squished it's tiny brain out of its red little head.

*****

As you may have guessed, where there's one red ant taking a bite off you, there are bound to be thousands, maybe even millions of others, all waiting for their turn. The multitude were in between the concrete walls of my house, where they've set up their headquarters. If only I've been a bit more pro-active, I would get some industrial strength pesticide, drill a hole into their nest, and zap the critters. Fortunately for them, I'm too lazy to put that plan into action.

So now, my apartment has become their playground. They're everywhere, always busy getting in line and making a mad dash to the garbage can, or the sink, or to where I've spilled some sugar and cream while making coffee. For the most part, they don't really bother me too much, unless they're making a meal of my big toe or some other part of my anatomy. In fact, their presence gives a bit of motivation for me to take out the trash, tidy up after meals and wash the dishes religiously. At times, they're even helping me clean up, such as the time I saw them making off with a dead lizard. No, I didn't kill the reptile, it died, probably of old age underneath the sofa, where the ants found its carcass and thought they'd better "clean" it up lest it rot and fester there creating a stink. Thanks guys.

Just imagine how dirty my apartment would be without those guys. I'm thankful I haven't obliterated them with pest spray in the past. Saved a ton on pesticide, too.

Now, if I could only train these guys to go after cockroaches...