Starting is the crux. Usually I think of the crux being halfway up a wall, moving my calloused fingers between edges just large enough to be considered – OUTCROPPINGS.
Currently, this is not the case. The crux at this moment in time just so happens to be the ants.
How did the ants make their way underneath my pasty skinny lids? One would assume that if one’s lids were going to be pasty and skinny they could at least then do their job properly. There is one realisation that the ants have going for them, one thing that reaffirms them when they find themselves trapped in and subjugated to a world in which they cannot make for themselves a regular cheese toasty.
This realisation?
ANTS ARE LITTLE.
Armed with this knowledge, the ants sequester themselves in my eye sockets, unperturbed by the defensive efforts of my pasty skinny lids.
My eyes are constantly dry. Over worked. Sore. Red. Itchy. I need to draft a letter of surrender to the insects.