Heath Ledger died.
I am being tormented by a weird bug under my desk that's lying on its back, dying and beating its wings helplessly against the cold floor. But I'm really repulsed by bug-like things, even in pictures. Their furry, spindly legs and glossy compound eyes are, to me, one of the most revolting things about them. I hate the sensation of feeling their light scratchy movements on my skin, or the buzzing they make next to my ear.
At the same time, I'm struggling with the ol' National Geographic African Wildlife Photographer dilemma. Can I just sit at a distance and not care about its life wasting away before my eyes? Should I euthanize it out of its overturned misery? Is it right to assume that the bug has reached the end of its short little existence, and not care for it? (Besides existing in my already-traumatized mind.)
Maybe if I wasn't so revolted and afraid of it, I would have allowed it to fly off, out through the window. In the light of this internal struggle that I face, however, my will to help the bug is undermined by my own fears and prejudice against such insects.
And the flapping and buzzing has ceased.
A large, oddly shaped beetle died. But no one cared. (And I have just unintentionally coloured in a lovely shade of Emo in my post.)
Thank God that the presentation during contact time went fine! I was already preparing myself to face a bored, distracted audience, but phew, they laughed at some points, although the humour was really totally unintended.
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