Infrequent Nights

The mosquitoes here are driving me insane. It isn't that there are too many of them. Nor that their bites are particularly bothersome. It is their cunning and intelligence that angers me at three in the morning as I crawl around in my underwear muttering under my breath "I know you're in here. Show yourself." In hopes that I can kill the one or two mosquitoes which lie in wait for me to let down my guard.

Taiwanese mosquitoes are a different breed than those found in Northern America. They're slightly smaller, a little quieter, and a hell of a lot smarter. I apparently am accustomed to comparatively stupid, and thus more easily killed, mosquitoes. The mosquitoes here seem to know when you're aware of their presence. Simply glancing in their direction as they sneak up on you is enough to make them retreat and strategically bide their time. Their retreat is highly effective, utilizing a series of dodging maneuvers they quickly head for a darkened area to minimize their contrast with the background thus making them virtually invisible.

They of course prefer to come out at night, but sunset isn't enough to get them to show themselves. They're content to wait half the night until I'm in bed, and have shut off the lights before they search out my ears in which to dance around infernally buzzing until I'm forced to point a huge fan directly at my head in hopes the breeze will keep them away. Even the old method of letting them land and bite so as to kill them while their guard is down doesn't work as well here. Any movement or signal that you might be aware of them is enough to trigger the cloacking device.

I need to work on my anti-mosquitoe campaign. I believe as the weather warms, and the rains continue, my battles will only become more difficult.