An American Carrion Beetle has joined the Bottle/Blow Flies and the Yellowjackets at the hollow under the little Oak tree, but be a fatality in there...
A single female of this species can produce 2000+ eggs in her lifetime. Isn’t that wild? Their larvae feed on carrion, but adults are more opportunistic and feed on nectar, also carrion, feces, or whatever else they might find (such as your food). They’re so cute though and I love them, their faces are so funny. Their iridescent coloring is also breathtaking, I can never tire of it.
the truly problematic thing about having insanely vivid dreams just about every night--and i mean the kind of vivid where you remember details days or even weeks later, like it's just another normal-ass memory--is that you wind up losing track on an emotional level of what's real. like. i know that was a dream. obviously it was a dream. but some part of my brain misses it like it really happened. i am painfully, achingly nostalgic for people i've never met, places i've never been, shit that literally could not ever happen--but i feel as though i remember. which is just the most unhinged thing, right? like, i remember going on a run that took me over a fence into Disneyland, and i remember having to take a shortcut through a Chinese restaurant, but it was fine, because Erika Ishii was there, and they'd done this before, so no worries. right? no! obviously not! why do i remember this with such visceral clarity three weeks later?
oh, what's your favorite episode of this TV show? the one i dreamt. yeah, don't worry about it, it didn't make coherent sense, but it was in the feelings, right? my ship had the best fucking scene. no, of course i can't explain it to you, that's madness. it involved a rocking chair. don't worry about it. it's fine. it's super important i don't accidentally reference this in a fic someday, though.
this shit is deranged, dude. missing people who are quite literally my own brain's invention with an actor's face. missing places that are a meld of a movie i saw once, my childhood bedroom, the second floor of my high school, and inter-dimensional space. like. no! no, this shouldn't be a thing! is, though. the clarity of it. just fucking bananas. this has been happening to me my whole goddamn life.
the thing about me is that at any given moment I am ready to start screaming about breaking bad season three episode ten, specifically the scene where Jesse goes to swat the fly on the ceiling by putting a ladder on a table, completely trusting Walt to hold it steady for him, and Walt watching this display of blind devotion in complete anguish because he knows he can't really help him if he falls and he knows he's the only reason that Jesse is on the ladder in the first place