Butterflies

Yes, there will be beautiful, inspiring butterfly photos, but first there will be some whining. So bear with me, because I've been saving it up for a while.

I've been feeling progressively more crappy for almost four weeks now. Just, tired. Then tireder. Then too tired to function. It started with the walking. I'm a big walker. I don't have a driver's license, but that's fine by me, because I love to walk, almost anywhere, in almost any weather. My commute to work is like this: 15 minutes of walking, 10 minutes on the bus, 15 more minutes of walking. My second walk of the morning is the best part. It takes me by the side of a huge, beautiful park, filled with trees, wildflowers, and songbirds. I look forward to that walk.

Three weeks ago I found that I was just too tired for it. I could make it to the bus stop, and then after my usual bus ride I had to wait at the corner for The Infrequent Bus to take me the last three stops to my office. It killed me to get on that stinky bus and get driven past my beautiful park. I fought it, I did. But I was too tired.

I had trouble at work. Mornings were the worst. I tried to hide it when other people were watching, but I was shuffling around the office. Couldn't lift my heavy feet off the floor. And cranky? Man, I was cranky. There were a lot of times when I felt the need to go back to people and apologize. But there was so much to be done. I took a Friday off to try to recoup; stayed at home that weekend for three days, just resting. Otherwise, I pushed through. I'm willful, if not wise.

The week that my assistant was away, I felt I absolutely had to go in. I had a lot of help from loyal colleagues to do my own job and hers. I pulled some very intense long days and got even crabbier. I started to dislike myself for being such a grump.

I woke up in the mornings feeling like I couldn’t catch my breath

Finally, this weekend, I cracked. I couldn’t push through it any more. I crashed. And since then I’ve been almost too tired to move. I’m so done in that I’m actually going to see my doctor tomorrow, which is unusual. I’m not one to run to him for ever little thing. But I’ve been resting for a few days, and I’m still so tired that it actually feels like a significant effort just to put together a blog post. I’d rather just lie around and stare at the TV, or even the ceiling. But then, like I said, I’m willful.

The last normal thing I did, in a well-meaning attempt to Think Positive and energize myself through exposure to beauty, was go with Ken to visit a butterfly conservatory. I’m not sorry that I went, even though the drive was long and the adventure exhausted me further.

The photos can't describe how fantastic it was to walk into the 5,000 square foot greenhouse filled with dozens of big, tropical butterflies. They were everywhere, flying within inches of my nose, decorating every surface. The sensation of being surrounded by a constant flurry of colour and life was transporting.

Ken flinched when they came too near to his head. I wasn’t worried. I figured they’re programmed to fly accurately. If they miss us by such a close margin that we feel the whoosh of their wings, that’s just a sign of their fearlessness. At least that’s what I thought until a big one, each wing the size of my palm, flew thwap into my face. Then suddenly I was all AAAAAAHMAHGAHD! GIANTBUGGETITOFFME! Outwardly I just yelped, but after that I started dodging when they got too close.

Another time I was pointing out a new type of butterfly to Ken, when another butterfly spontaneously landed on my pointing finger. It was so unexpected that I reflexively shook it off, and then immediately regretted my reaction as it flew away.

This is a Blue Morpho eating lunch. Why is it called a Blue Morpho?

Because the tops of its wings are blue.

An Emerald Swallowtail:

This one is either a Rice Paper Butterfly or a Wood Nymph, I'm not 100% sure which:

This is the nursery, where freshly hatched butterflies dry their wings among chrysalises that are still waiting for their turn.

I'm not sure what these are, but dang, they're pretty.

Here's a shot of the interior of the conservatory. Ooh, a waterfall!

There were also birds, turtles, big goldfish in the pond, giant African snails, and at least another dozen types of butterflies. I have around 60 photos that were worth keeping. These are all you're getting because it's taking Blogger around 5 minutes per photo to upload right now. :-pppp

Enjoy! And I'm going to go back to lying around. Here's the bright side to being a little feverish: when our AC can't keep up with the afternoon sun and the temperature creeps up to 80 degrees, I feel cool as a cucumber. Anything under 78 and I'm reaching for my fleece blanket. If it wasn't for Mr. Sweaty here (sorry Ken) I'd turn the AC off completely. But I guess the healthy person gets to set the standard for a healthy environment. Especially when he's taking care of me.

Bugs

Usually I walk to work quickly, chin up, listening to my iPod, lost in thought. This morning I walked slowly, looking down, paying attention, trying not to step on the worms.

Poor dumb worms. They work tirelessly, making soil for us, and how do we repay them? When they come out on rainy days, we squash them mercilessly. We smash them underfoot, eviscerate them with bicycles and baby strollers, bisect them with bundle-buggies. We don't even notice the massacre.

I have a moderate position when it comes to bugs. They're life forms too, and worthy of respect. That being said, I don't cherish unconditional love for all insects.

Small bugs are OK unless they're actively trying to bite me. To me, potato bugs wandering around outside are cute. Spiders in my house don't bother me. I figure they're on my side because they eat the bad bugs. As long as my home isn't suffering from an active infestation, I can tolerate the little guys.

Medium sized bugs intimidate me. I'd rather they stayed outside. Once I lived in a basement apartment with a guy and an indeterminate number of 2-inch-long cockroaches. I was aware that in theory they are clean beasties, probably more hygienic than your average dog. But it bothered me that they didn't respect my boundaries. While making the bed, I'd flick the duvet to straighten it and a roach would pop out. It was equally un-charming to shake one out of a sweater that I had been planning to wear.

Fortunately, when our kittens moved in, the bugs, after they got tired of being played with like wind-up toys, moved out. Even more fortunately, when we moved out, none of the roaches managed to hitch a ride to our next apartment.

Really big bugs, or masses of smaller bugs, do creep me out. No problem. I don't travel to countries where really big bugs live. And I avoid cottages. The black flies and mosquitoes feel that it's their territory? That's fine. I won't be showing up to argue the point with them.

My least favourite bug encounter was

(don't read this if you're squeamish)

this time at Lime Rickey's, a restaurant designed around 1950's nostalgia. I was there with a boyfriend, one of his friends, and one of my friends. We were trying to set our friends up, so there was an awkward, first-date quality to the evening. We were all trying to play it cool and casual.

I ordered a chocolate milkshake. Drinking it, I noticed waxy pieces finding their way up the straw. I thought that the ice cream might be chocolate-chocolate-chip, or maybe it was waxy residue from the inside of the container. I had consumed quite a few of these mystery bits when something prompted me to spit one of the pieces into my palm for a closer look.

It was a leg. Definitely. A black leg, with one joint, and a yellow stripe.

Yep.

Yuh huh. Play it cool. Keep it casual.

I can't remember exactly how it went from there, since this all went down around 15 years ago, but the server was summoned to our table. I presented him with my evidence. He was unconcerned. Offered us an explanation to the effect that the place next door was being renovated, and the vibrations from all the power tools were shaking bugs out of the walls. Like that was supposed to make any of us feel better.

Anyway, I didn't get to hollering, or barfing. I just asked the server to take my plate away and that was that. In the end, I suffered no ill effects.

My ex, who is still a friend, recently reminisced with me about the bugshake. "Man," he said admiringly "you sure took that like a trooper!"

If you are what you eat, I'm part bug.

How do you feel about bugs?