Waspocalypse 2011 continues . . .

In case you didn't know, I've been suffering from a plague of wasps for a month and a half, and my nerves are rather frayed.  There's nothing like being tied to your computer, the only place you can grade stuff for your online course, while you are dodging and slaughtering wasps.  It's made it hard for me to post on my blog, even, sadly enough.  I've been avoiding home.

Any attempt at a relaxing day at home is a failure when you are forced to kill something.  I am bad at the killing.  I'm not referring to my wasp-slaying skills, though there has been definite improvement in this area by necessity.  I just can't handle killing and death very well.  Even if it's just a wasp, I feel sick inside that it has to die just so I can relax.

Why I should appreciate the wasps

• They keep me on my toes.
• They love art.
• They encourage me to work faster.
• They encourage me to get out more.

After my 5 wasps in 24 hours debacle and subsequent hysterical phone call to the apartment manager who had told me they had done everything they could, they called in an exterminator who looked a the exterior of the building and said, yep, it's sealed up tight with no way for wasps to get in.  He sprayed it to humor me. 

The next day I had a wasp. 

Today, I've killed one and been stalking another since noon.  It has ADHD and won't land where I can kill it.  I have neck strain as a result. 

Now it has another friend, and they're hanging out on my painting, which I am not going to smash them onto for all time.  They are laughing at me; I can tell. 

I really need this to stop. 

They're going to call wasp dude back and have him fumigate my apartment, which might actually be more likely to kill me than the wasps.  It's not an ideal solution because it could wreck my computer and my books and my couch and even my clothes, and if this misses any, then I will get to meet them in the spring.  I really don't think I can handle being afraid to come home and having to twitch at every noise not related to the regular domestic disturbances.

I have twitched over 50 times today when wasps hit or approached the window.  I was told by the maintenance guy that every time he's been up to look around, he hasn't seen any.  I really find that hard to believe, but he's not as twitchy as I am.  He's also slightly hard of hearing from power tool use, so he probably misses the meaty thunks and slightly stunned hovering I see and hear on the other side of the window on a bright, sunny day.

I will leave another note and the corpses, so when the wasp guy comes, he can see I am not making this up.  As if the smears on the window, walls, and ceiling marking their final resting places are not enough proof. 

So the main question is why do wasps like this apartment so much when they never have before?  I have come up with some possible ideas

• They are literary wasps.
• They are artistic wasps.
• They think I smell like common field pest bugs.
• They hate me.
• They enjoy seeing me hyperventilate.
• There is a game of Wasp Survivor going on in my walls, and the loser doesn't just get kicked out of the nest . . .

They say there's no nest and that there's no way for the wasps to get in from outside.  Tell that to the two wasps canoodling on the top of my painting right now and the corpse in the window groove.  Where are Holmes and Watson when I need them?

A poem from last week

The problem with opening
the curtains to let in the sunlight
is that I can see the smears
of dead wasp goo on the
shadows of the window glass
on the floor.

Goo isn't the most artistic word.  Anyone have a better suggestion?