The Living Dead

Dear Journal,

Know what? I forgot about the Cicadas. While mowing my .76 acres (or approximately ¾ of an acre) I like to mull over the stories that swim laps in my head. I would also like to listen to music, but the rider mower is too loud, so I think and plot.  

The other day while thinking and ploting,  I was interrupted by a Cicada jumping on my ball cap. My arms and one foot flailed about(without me screaming) and the Cicada left. My cap is green and looks worn; I bought it that way except for the sweat which has nothing to do with this post. Anyway, I had forgotten about them (the Cicadas) until one jumped on me. I prepared myself to go in the house saying phooey to keeping up with my neighbors’ yards.

Instead, I mowed on.

It wasn’t long after that another little sucker Cicada jumped on my face. I swear he was trying to kiss me. They’ve been away from society so long; I guess he just wanted a smooch. I do look pretty good in my ball cap, tank top and sunglasses. (Please never spy on me, because I might be lying.)

But, I’m not that kind of girl so I said to him NO, absolutely NOT—no kiss. You're too green and your eyes creep me out.  I pushed him off into the grass.

This is what happens when you’re a part of the living dead and you reenter society, you have no social graces.

No not me— the two Cicadas.

Thanks for listening!

~~JW