I once saw this amazing acupuncturist who had made a vow to never kill anything, ever. EVER. I literally watched her pick a spider up and gently and calmly put it outside while "Born Free" was playing in the background. (Okay, so maybe not the last part.) She was amazing and beautiful and I thought, "I can totally be like Mary Beth and be profound, and commune peacefully with nature." Until I walked outside in my zen state and spent the next 5 minutes killing a mosquito that had gotten in my car.
Killing bugs has now become the barometer I use to judge how my day is going. On really good days I pretend I'm Snow White and commune with butterflies and spiders and what have you and let them live. On an exceptionally excellent day, I even let a trail of ants eat the rest of Kay's Raisinets and reflected on how amazing and peace-loving I was.
Then there are the other 363 days of the year when I kill stuff with glee. I killed an ant with such violence yesterday, my walls shook and a potholder fell off the wall. I should probably feel guilty about these senseless deaths, but most of the time I'm too busy reciting lines from Full Metal Jacket in my head while slamming random objects down as the little buggers try to escape. (The dead know only one thing: it is better to be alive.) I do believe however, that these acts of random cruelty and violence against small defenseless creatures allow me to be a kinder, gentler person in the rest of my life. Thank heavens for the rest of the human population that I live in Florida, the bug capital of the world.