I have to admit, there’s a lot of insecurity that comes with being me. I don’t like that, I think I’m more confident. I think I am the person that I want to be, I just let myself not be him. Maybe because being him is too much work, and something is broken and I’m struggling to fix it, and I’m struggling to fix it in time. Feels like I’ve been running, but I’m exactly where I started. What have you done with this existence? I’m writing this amid a battle with a fly. Flew in when I went out for a smoke. I’m at a point where I’m asking myself, was it worth it? That fucking fly. I hate flies. Especially the annoying ones, the persistent ones. They probably landed a few eggs in my strawberry jam sandwich. What happens if I eat fly eggs? Google: Some infested patients have been asymptomatic; others have had abdominal pain, vomiting, and diarrhea (2,3). It even says that many fly species are capable of producing intestinal myiasis. “Capable of” makes it sound like they would do it on purpose just to harm you. I’ve been in battle with this thing for an hour, I’ve smacked it a bunch of times already, is producing intestinal myiasis something she could do as revenge? Here it is, the Freudian She. I’m eating the sandwich. It’s dry, but it’s still jam. There are parts of the sandwich with more jam than others. Parts sweet, parts dry. The fly attacks my sandwich. I remove the part of bread it sat on. Continue eating. Half to go. The fly tries to maneuver, attacking the legs and then going for a bite of my sandwich, I smack it! It circles back. I stuff the rest of the sandwich all in my mouth. Fuck you, you’re not taking my sandwich. She might just be defending her eggs, all million of them. Intestinal myiasis I can take. A fucking fly in my bedroom, I might have to get up and hunt you out, or kill you. Flies must see us in slow motion, because I rarely ever catch one. Unlike mosquitos, my speciality.