How excited can you get?
Do you get butterflies in your stomach?
That woozie feeling, like you’re exploding inside with terror and excitement, how do you describe it?
Me?
I tend to the borning side.
Butterflies.
Right?
You’ve heard about that before.
People describing their nervousness, excitement and panic as butterflies.
If we end up with butterflies in our stomachs, that must mean most of the time we’re full of worms. Fuzzy little worms creating coocoons.
I don’t know about you but I prefer butterflies to worms. Especially around this time of year. We have municipally collected green compost bins. It’s an odd thing, walking around the neighbourhood on garbage day. The bins have all kinds of little birds landing on them. Why is this happening?
Closer inspection reveals that these heat-baked green bins are frequently covered with little, white, wriggling baby flies. The birds are featsing on them. Some call these baby flies ‘maggots’. But that word is problematic. Maggots are problematic? Where are you going with this one Fool?
It’s not because the word sounds like bundles of sticks in the UK. “Maggot” sounds harsh, angry and aggressive. The word ‘maggot’ sounds like it should be used as frequntly as ‘the’ or ‘and’ in a language much like Klingon.1
Moreover, in my mind, the word ‘maggot’ reminds me of the porcupine corpse I came across one day in the forest. I stumbled upon it. When I did, the whole thing moved. It was covered with countless, writhing, little white baby flies. When they moved, it looked almost holographic. Though the movement of the feasting young flies was entrancing, the odour was horrific. It was enough to gag a maggot.
But it was just fine for these cute little baby flies.
Yesterday was garbage day. They took away the compost. The rim of our green bin was ringed with little baby flies. If you looked at it rigth, it was almost like the salt on a margarita glass. Only instead of still salt, this was rimmed with writing baby flies.
After the trash was taken away, I opened the bin. I looked inside. Can you imagine what I saw?
It was almost unspeakable.
There were a lot of baby flies. They were hungry and having a writhing feeding frenzy. The walls inside of the green bin were two things they should not have been due to the nature of the bin.
The bin on the outside was pretty much green. The bin was made of rigid, unchanging, stable plastic. Inside? It was writhing and white. It looked like what I imagine the inside of someone’s stomach feels like when they’re panicking.
What does this have to do with you?
My suggestion?
Welcome the caterpillers. Give them a safe place to coocoon.
And when they start to flap their beautiful, delicate wings, let them escape. Summon up a great, technocolour yawn. Let them fly with speach, screaming or a sigh. Share your excitement. Get those butterflies flying.
And if you’re lucky, they’ll go to work for you pollenating the word with your energy
I say much like Klingon because, though remarkably foolish, I’m not that big of a nerd. If I were, this would be the remarkable nerd’s letter. Perhaps someone fluent in Klingon can write it. Perhaps they can write it in Klingon. I wonder how big the readership would be. This is a niche I’m not that interested in exploring. Perhaps you are. Start writing The Remarkable Nerds Letter. Write it in Klingon. I’ll be your first subscriber. But perhaps, your first post should offer me some clues on how to read / speak Klingon.
Thank you, in advance, for your service.
So.
A bit squeamish today. But I read the whole thing. Serious devotion.
When I see a harsh sounding word, I impose a French pronunciation....maggot becomes "mah go". The romantic languages save the day, yet again. Or you can go visual...Maggot Robbie....a blonde hottie intent on decomposing your local roadkill.
We have not had these visitors for years. How? Preparation. A sheet or two of newsprint to wrap likely cuisine des maggot and keeping items in the fridge or freezer until the evening before pick up.
Similarly, a little prep (mental, physical, spiritual, whatever works for you) can help with the butterflies. I enjoy a little anticipation, but my butterflies have a serious wingspan. I prefer the Olympic athlete approach to the luge. Know every turn. Practice the run in your mind. Practice in real life. Focus so that you are unaware of anything else. Don't think. Channel the performance. Blink at the end and check the scoreboard. Watch it on replay. You weren't there anyway. And either were the butterflies.