Ladybug Invasion

Ladybugs. Some of of you call them ladybirds. Either way, I like 'em! I think most of us do. But why would any of us like this particular bug, even though the thought of bugs instinctively makes our skin crawl?

The only reason I can think of is that it is their cool polk-a-dot design that we love so much. Seriously, most of us even let these little critters crawl on us while thinking how wonderfully cute they are. Would you let a cockroach do that?

One day about five years ago while I was at work, a ladybug landed on my arm. I let it crawl around on me, and the little monster bit me! I quickly shook it off in total surprise that it would do that. It didn't really hurt that much. It was just the smallest pinch. But it still bit me.

I don't mean to scare anyone off of these wonderful little beatles, but I do have a strange little point to all this. When I was in Michigan I very rarely saw ladybugs, but here in Iowa I'm seeing them everywhere. They're all around my house here, inside and out!

I've always heard that ladybugs are a beneficial creature, but I don't really like to see any bugs crawling around in my cupboards. For now, I'm leaving them alone, even the ones inside the house. I'll have to do a little more research on them though.

I still like them though. But I've still accidentally killed a few of them. I've mistaken them for big flies. I've mistaken them for other bugs. I didn't mean to do it, and I felt bad afterwards, but I guess I'm a killer now. I feel bad because I killed bugs. Should I feel bad? Would killing a ladybug make you feel bad?

And that's it about the ladybugs, but I want to add some other thoughts to this post. I've always had a bit of a dark sense in my writing. I find that darkness somewhat humorous. But ever since my year old car accident my mood has darkened even further. It's a bit more than uncomfortable.

This extra darkness in me has crippled my writing with more than a bit of writer's block. The only thing I've really been able to write easily has been my horror stories over at Rat Tales, but even those are leaving me. I guess all I can do now is to keep trying and hope that it all comes back to me.

I feel like I'm whining by even mentioning this, but I also feel that it is important to write it down. Maybe the act of writing about it will help get it out of my system so I can get back to my old self. And maybe I can learn to use it somehow. Thoughts and feelings let us know we are alive, even dark ones. So I'll follow this darkness and see where it goes. And I'll sit here and feel bad because I accidentally killed a few ladybugs.

I'll repeat. Would killing a ladybug make you feel bad?


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