To the mosquito who bit my elbow the other day when I was standing with the dogs in the backyard:

Why?

Yeah, your survival is my annoyance - I get it, fine. Evolution did this. I'll concede that point.

But why be a hate machine? Why serve no clear purpose?

And why on the elbow?

I can't see it.

You know, the spot where you bit me.

I can't - it's a blind spot. I can only feel the bump.

Right there over the bone, swollen now, in the absolute worst place to itch because you can't quite reach it right and you know you're making it worse and yet you scratch on it anyway.

That's the thing about the elbow. You don't see it coming. You don't see it existing. You just feel it. After.

Ben Hunt told me recently, on camera, in front of witnesses, that I publish too much. He also said I can't help myself. I'm pretty sure he meant both things as a compliment. I've decided to take them that way.

The compulsion isn't the problem. The accommodation is.

I've spent a long time being nice about the bump on my elbow. Deciding the fuss costs more than the welt. Letting it itch.

So, thank you Ben. I'd like to declare that done.

Mosquito - if I see you again, I will damage you. Not out of rage. Not even out of principle. Out of a simple recalibration of what I'm willing to absorb.

You picked the wrong elbow.

Maybe I'll do that muscle flex trick we talked about in middle school, where you can't shut some valve off.

Or maybe I'll just swat you.

I don't have time for this s***.

No more Mr. Nice Guy. And honestly? That mosquito wasn't doing any of us any favors.

PS. Inspired by the reactions to my essay for Epsilon Theory: Unplugged on Panoptica, “Nobody Wants to Earn Their S***” AND this Notes on Notes conversation between me and Ben Hunt.