- [x] Set timer for 20 minutes - [x] Start writing Stepping outside is an act of bravery. The incessant hum of the chicory borers has become overwhelming. The acoustic version of water torture. They announce their dominance with that endless chirping, scraping, grinding noise. There is no escaping their chatter. But, going out into it? That's only for the bravest, or the least well among us. When you see someone moving outside, they are typically moving in halting sprints. They listen first for the closest bug sounds, then they scamper a few dozen meters, and pause again to listen. Their head cocks back and forth, trying to locate the closest and most threatening sounds from within the ubiquitous cacophany that threatens all of our sanity. The gentle call of insects used to be so gorgeous, so rural; it was a reminder of gentle summer nights and fireflies. Now it’s a sign of the loss of control we have over the environment. Sure you can hire a company to spray your yard. They’ll take your money, they’ll kill everything in your plot including butterflies, moths, and earthworms. And it’ll last like a week. All the birds will die. All the amphibians start to rot and stink up the area. Is it worth it? Maybe for your kids 4th birthday, maybe it is. But within a couple weeks those borers are back, and before you know it one is wriggling out of your elbow or your cheek while you’re shopping in the store. Everyone moves away while you do your best to pull and pull and it stretches and snaps back in, spraying your blood droplets around the floor. You head for the bathroom and find two other people in their pulling borers out of their skin. For weeks after you pull one out you can’t sleep because you can feel them wriggling, even if they aren’t there. The urgent cares are full of people feeling wriggling. *Please, give me the shot* They beg, and they can always find someone to give them the shot, if they pay enough. Even if they don’t need it.