I used to have hornets in my room at home— they lived in the air ducts for a bit, so I was always caught in 2am combat. There’s something about squishing the life out of bugs that I just can’t get behind, so instead I had a nightly showdown. Normally I would manage to hit the bugger out of the air and then I would trap it under about 6 Harry Potter books and call it a night. The next morning I would whisk my mom upstairs to view my success in battle and politely ask her to move the remains. Now, I don’t have anyone to pick up my wasp guts. When I’m sick I get to uber eats myself groceries that are way too expensive and when I’m tired I get to go to bed without eating— shit I even called customer service today about not enrolling me in a 401K program. It’s like one of those annoying “would-you-rather” questions where they say idiot things like *would you rather crush the life out of a wasp* OR *deal with your retirement plan today*? I always hated those games because I wanted to say “neither,” but when you’re an adult you have to say “both.”
Nostalgia hits harder when you’re not sure when it’ll be back.
There’s a certain order to the first 21 years of your life (if you went to college), and when it’s over you wake up from very long coma with an apartment you can’t pay for. The nostalgia though, it hits you in waves. You buy a tote bag because it was inspired by your favorite book as a kid. You get ice cream sandwiches at the grocery store to remind you of Michigan summers. You grab onto the pieces because you’re not sure when they’ll be back. Up until now you’ve been twisting and turning through reliable cycles, you always kinda knew what was coming next even when you didn’t.
You always knew that if you went home there might be a hornet in your room— and that would be enough. A small comfort in a large dish of unknown.