Mosquitoes.

I'm not sure what has me so interested in insects these days. Maybe because I've been spending a lot of time on my front stoop, fending them off. Watching them. Trying to figure out how a lonely gnat can find its place in this world when it's so damn hard for me to find a decent job.

Not to be too dreamy or anything, but ... well, at least I'm honest.

This morning I was thinking about mosquitoes. One was incessantly trying to gnaw my leg off while I led Penny out to a patch of grass to use the bathroom.

Those pesky bastards do not stop. They buzz around, hoping you'll forget about them after the first time you waft them away. They spend all their time hoping, calculating for a taste of sweet skin. Annoying you. Getting all their buddies to go for the same target so maybe one will distract you long enough for him to buzz in and get a nibble.

According to Wikipedia (my new favorite obsession), the "Mosquitoes" chapter in "Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things," (which I haven't read) states the nuisances are seen as reincarnations of the dead, condemned by the errors of their former lives to the condition of "blood-drinking pretas."

Damn. I don't really believe in reincarnation, but you've got to be one pathetic bastard to come back as something that miserable.

Mosquitoes have got to be one of the most evil predators on the planet. They're apparently responsible for the spread of global diseases -- some fatal -- and for what? They bite for nothing. They itch for a minute, but as long as you're not a victim of bird flu, they disappear after a few hours.

What is their purpose, really? Other than being blood-sucking bastard nuisances? I know a few people who -- if reincarnation actually did exist -- should come back as one.