So, just to clear things up once and for all, I thought I'd lay all my cards on the table, set the record straight, reveal the blank slate, and silence all those pernicious wagging tongues.
Here we go:
1) The Pope IS Catholic
2) Bears DO shit in the woods
3) Yes, your question WAS rhetorical
and finally, most importantly of all:
4) THIS IS NOT A DIARY
There. I hope that's the end of the matter.
I'm writing this on Lucy's computer, as mine is all buzzed out and needs a rest (like a toddler bee, or an insomniac coke freak).
It means that I can't film a hilarious video of my face, which will disappoint everyone, I'm sure.
So even though this is not a diary (see point 4 above), I'd better write about what has happened today.
"Not much" is the answer. Another day off. Another day of indulgence and sloth.
In the morning, I slept fitfully. I didn't literally have any fits (at least none that I'm aware of - I was asleep after all). But I was disturbed. I kept hearing noises from outside or downstairs, and my comatose brain was incorporating them into my dreams. I imagined there were people in the flat. They must not have been doing anything too bad - at least not bad enough for me to get up. But still, it was unsettling.
My waking day was much more pleasant. Although there were indeed lots of sounds coming from the flat, I was compos mentis enough to realise they were generated by myself. That's the beauty of being awake: you have the capacity to attribute causes to certain sensory information.
I didn't make any weird noises or anything. It was mostly moving around, opening cupboards, turning on taps... things like that. A bit of light humming. The odd little bits of speech ("Where did I put those scissors?"; "What did I come in hear for?"; "Ah, of course!"; "Mmm, delicious bleach!")
A few small arguments with myself in the mirror. Just the usual (everyone does that).
"NO! NO! WHY CAN'T YOU BE A GOOD BOY?"
"Ohhh, that's the way we're gonna play it, is it? Unfortunately for you Sunshine, only one of us is holding a pair of scissors. And it ain't you."
Just the usual stuff, you know.
Then there was the gurgling. Not weird gurgling. Just the usual run-of-the-mill gurgling. Gurgling that resembles the actual sound of a running mill.
A couple of screams, sure.
But those were the only sounds. Nothing odd. Not like the dream sounds. Not like the nightmare sounds.
Not like that at all.
I listened to some good music, and did a bit of reading.
Oh, I'm sorry! I meant to say reading. I accidentally wrote bleeding! Whoops! What would Freud have to say about that?! I'd better go back and replace 'bleeding' with 'reading'. Otherwise you all might think I'm a bit odd! And we can't have that. Freud's dead now.
Not that I had anything to do with it.
The only thing of real incident that happened was the visit of a hornet. I think it was a hornet. It was certainly too big to be an average wasp. It thundered in to the living room, looking like a menacing burnt croissant.
I wasn't sure what to do. I had mislaid my scissors somewhere, and didn't feel like engaging in hand-to-wing combat with the beast. Especially as I have no wings, and he has no hands. It would have been an administrative disaster.
And yes, I'm sorry that I made the hornet male by default. The inherent misogyny of my language has reared its ugly striped head once again.
But, so ingrained is this convention, that I thought describing the creature as female would seem incongruous and take people out of the (tense) narrative.
I should have used the female anyway, though. It's the only means of going some way to resolving the sexist bias in our discourse.
(I've written about this before, I think. But it was a long time ago. I wonder if I've repeated myself...)
The other thing to consider is the gender roles of hornets. It could be the case that all hornets that fly around are male. Let's take a look!
In Vespa crabro, the nest is founded in spring by a fertilized female known as the queen. It generally selects sheltered places like dark hollow tree trunks. It first builds a series of cells (up to 50) out of chewed tree bark. The cells are arranged in horizontal layers named combs, each cell being vertical and closed at the top. An egg is then laid in each cell. After 5–8 days, the egg hatches, and in the next two weeks, the larva undergoes its five stages. During this time, the queen feeds in a protein-rich diet of insects.
Then, the larva spins a silk cap over the cell's opening and, during the next two weeks, transforms into an adult, a process called metamorphosis. Then, the adult eats its way through the silk cap. This first generation of workers, invariably females, will now gradually undertake all the tasks that were formerly carried out by the queen (foraging, nest building, taking care of the brood, etc.) with one exception: egg-laying, which remains exclusive to the queen.
As the colony size grows, new combs are added, and an envelope is built around the cell layers until the nest is entirely covered with the exception of an entry hole. At the peak of its population, the colony can reach a size of 700 workers, which occurs in late summer.
At this time, the queen starts producing the first reproductive individuals. Fertilized eggs develop into females (called "gynes" by entomologists), and unfertilized ones develop into males (sometimes called "drones"). Adult males do not participate in nest maintenance, foraging, or caretaking of the larvae. In early to mid-autumn, they leave the nest and mate during "nuptial flights". Males die shortly after mating. The workers and queens survive at most until mid to late autumn; only the fertilized queens survive over winter.
Interesting! Of course, I'm not even sure it was a hornet. But from this, I conclude that it could well have been a female, and so I was out of line in assuming masculinity.
So, to conclude:
1) Is the Pope Catholic? Yes, SHE is.
2) Do bears shit in the woods? Yes, SHE does.
3) Is this a rhetorical question, MADAM?
4) This is not a diary.
Also, I have no significant mental health issues.
("Or DOES she...?")
No comments:
Post a Comment