I am the god of bugs!

I am the god of bugs. Specifically the small, buzzy, erratically flying ones that seem to attach themselves to you for the sole purpose of erasing all your pride after forcing you to run around in circles while screaming at the top of your lungs and begging someone to get it off you.

Wherever I go, bugs follow me. "Follow" might be a modest term. These bugs actually hunt me down like little ninjas. They attack me from all sides....flying into my hair and face and trying to crawl into just about every opening on my body. Some of these bugs should definitely be registered sex offenders.

Even places that should be "bug free"-such as in the middle of downtown San Diego, on the 25th floor of a building, in the middle of December--become exceptions if I am visiting.

How is this possible? How do they always find a way to creep into my life to torture, molest, and harass me?

One day I finally realized the answer to this question. Instead of coming up with a perfectly rational explanation that I have heard my whole life such as "You release a pheromone that they like" or "Your shampoo smells good", or even "you hate them so they hate you", I decided upon the most irrational answer: I am the god of bugs! 

All the creepy crawly insects in this world think I am their god and they are actually worshiping me instead of attacking me. There is a fine line between attacking and worshiping as I am sure Justin Bieber can tell you.

....or perhaps I am more equivalent to the bug Jesus. Are the bugs going to one day crucify me on some sort of arthropodal secretion formed into a cross? It's a possibility.

I believe that when every noxious icky, sticky, and possibly perverted bug was born, their bug parents hung a mobile over their crib with little pictures of my face. This way I would forever be embedded in their tiny bug sized brains.

All the bugs read this blog religiously. It is their bug bible

Instead of soon-to-be bug moms strapping a headset to their belly and playing Mozart, they play recordings of my voice to their unborn abominations. When I am singing in the shower, there is a fly perched in the corner of my bathroom with a microscopic tape recorder. This is how they make bug radio.

Bugs know that one day I will save them from their persecution. One day I will realize my true fate and come to the conclusion that bugs are really just cute, fuzzy, warm little animals that need some Heather love. Bugs must be freed of their awful stereotype and they all know that I will be the one to deliver them from evil.





But their day of buggy freedom is not today. No, I will not be parting the waters of the bug sea today. Today I run from bugs. I run far, far away screaming profanities and smushing them so hard that their guts are permanently embedded in my walls and flooring.

So if you are a bug and you are reading this now: I understand why you feel the need to latch onto me but I am begging you to stop. Being a martyr sounds all noble and awesome but in reality doing a kamikaze into my face just isn't cool. Don't be that bug. Leave me in peace. Let me meditate upon my feelings and find my inner love for bugs without being harassed by your penetrating eyes, annoying communication methods, and painful but tender bites that long to awaken my soul. This is a command from your god and if you disobey then I will be forced to come down upon thee with my bug zapper!