Ants. They’re all overachievers. This morning, I found an army of them marching along my kitchen counter. I watched the ants as I made my coffee, a morning ritual and necessity. Coffee helps me face the fact that I have to go to work. As the scouts dutifully charted the counter, I was reminded of Lewis & Clark. Ants have some work ethic. They toil away their days with gusto. I can’t imagine a lazy ant, reclined on its back with a few legs casually crossed over the others, juggling crumbs with its antennae while the rest of the ants do all the work. No, there are no lazy ants. When I finished my second cup of coffee and placed the mug into the sink, I squashed the ants with my thumb.

I knew that tomorrow, there would be more ants to replace their dearly departed brothers and sisters. Some of the scouts would discover uncharted territories in my kitchen and march troops of their dutiful servants into the unknown in search of treasure. I would be there to see them, as I made my coffee, and to put them out of their miserable, monotonous days with my thumb.

Later, I opened my blinds to find flies buzzing haphazardly along the window’s surface. There were 6 of them passionately trying to follow their instincts and get outside. I have no idea how one fly, let alone six, got inside my apartment overnight. I have no access to the outdoors and impenetrable screens protect the windows. I suppose, somehow, one fly got in here and gave rise to the others. The strange thing is that the flies didn’t look like babies. I’ve entertained the notion that perhaps they followed the ants into my place. Maybe they are operating as a coalition in “Operation Annoy Cheryn.”

I smashed most of the flies with a folded catalog of typefaces. They were quite sluggish and made easy targets. Obviously, they hadn’t had their morning coffee. I came home later to find one fly that escaped the morning’s extermination. I chased it around my apartment, wielding my paper weapon like an idiot. The fly was impossible to swat. I caught my reflection in the window and stopped to laugh at the silliness of it all. I felt like a kid at a carnival trying to win a prize by pounding the head of a robotic groundhog with a big, rubber mallet.

I let the fly live. I decided that I need a distraction, a game of sorts, to keep me from getting too serious. When I’m in the mood to play, I’ll simply grab my Émigré catalog and chase the fly around my apartment. Forget video games and reality T.V., I’d found a better source of entertainment.

Nature has invaded my apartment and I’ve killed most of it. The ants reminded me too much of a life filled only with work. When I’m groggily sipping my morning coffee, I don’t want to be reminded of the busy day ahead of me. The flies simply suffered from overpopulation. One was saved to live out its days as a plaything, an existence I can only dream of achieving. However, tonight I found it floating dead in the glass of wine I’d been drinking. It ended up in the garbage with the rest of my victims. After a moment of sadness, I felt relief. I figure there will probably be more flies to chase tomorrow.