God. Damned. Moths.

Looking over my last post, I think the fugue which has become my was at it’s zenith, reducing my lexicon to zombie-like proportions, and rendering my communication skills inert. So I will explain.

My sleep patterns have become increasingly poor of late. I am a creature of routine. When my routine is interrupted the proverbial shit hits the fan and my whole life goes pitching over the side like a drunken skipper at midnight. Historically, if I had too many late nights followed by too many early mornings — or just regular mornings — I would ‘hit the wall’. I would eventually reach a point where my body simply couldn’t take any more. It’d be reduced to a shambling mess, I’d pass out every time my eyelids met, and I would actually begin to manifest symptoms as if I were horribly diseased.

Lately, I have had my routine massively interrupted. But I haven’t hit the wall. I am existing in a purgatory of sorts between well-dom and the wall-of-death. This inability to hit the wall has made it very difficult to restore normality to my routine. I’m not someone who can sleep on command, and I’m not someone who can get up early without a damned good reason. And work, unfortunately, doesn’t seem to register in my system as a damned good reason.

Daylight Savings didn’t help. As expressed in the last post, I have never been an advocate of Daylight Savings. I just don’t see any value in it — the days are already getting longer, so we’re already getting ‘more’ daylight. It just seems so unnecessary to me.

I was out in Melbourne until late last Saturday. By the time I got home it was after 2am. By the time I got to bed it was after 3am (I can’t just hit the pillow and sleep, I need to ‘wind-down’ when I get home before I can go to bed). ┬áBy the time it was 3am, Daylight Savings had made it 4am.

And then it started.

A damned moth started beating itself against the window, ricocheting between the glass in the blind. “Thmp.” … “Thmp” … “Thmp.” For hours on end. This, annoyingly, is a regular occurrence in my bedroom. Moths get ‘trapped’ behind my blind and continuously smack themselves against the window in a futile attempt to reach the pale moonlight.

I have come to the conclusion that moths are idiots.

In high school a teacher once told us that moths see light as meaning either sex or food — so they spend every moment pursuing it. At uni a girl in my creative writing class wrote a story about how unnatural illumination was confusing and hurtful to moths, and that we eliminate artificial light.

My thoughts? Set more fires. If they’re stupid enough to fly in, let ‘em burn.




Yep, Gehndo’s shirtless. Enjoy, ladies. (And gentlemen, I guess.)