Terrified by brown specks.

I used to be normal. Well, okay, at least I appeared normal enough. I could put on clothing without checking the seams first. I could traverse a room without examining every brown speck on a hardwood floor. Hell, I was so normal I could read watch sci-fi horror flicks about alien insect infestations and laugh.

But that was before we had bedbugs.

It's amazing how much such a small creature can totally fuck with your psyche. I've never been the type that was afraid of bugs. In fact, I was that crazy girl who used to collect spiders in jars and find inventive ways to collect flies for them to eat. I lived in Georgia and, as such, learned to peacefully coexist with very large cockroaches. I have even allowed mosquitoes to feast on my flesh without too much impunity when I forgot bug repellant. But I cannot stand these fuckers. I can't sleep for fear that they will get me. I live in fear that they will attack my son. I am growing an unnatural attachment to my vacuum. I am a woman obsessed with the obliteration of the bedbug.

So imagine my surprise (and disgust!) when I read about Louis Sorkin, an entomologist at the American Museum of Natural History in the New York Times. Sorkin not only studies the critters but keeps a jar on his desk, allowing them to feed on his arm. And as I read the piece, I couldn't help but wonder: Is this our future? Is the resurgence of these insects unstoppable? Will we all be allowing these little bloodsuckers to feed on us as we sleep? Is it just time to throw up a white flag and surrender ourselves to these god-awful parasites?

All I know is, pondering that question is going to keep me not normal for some time to come.