No Respite From Itchy Bugbites

This is the season for black flies, a pest with which I was not familiar before arriving in Guatemala, but whose existence I am beginning to hate almost as much as that of mosquitoes.
These are tiny flying insects, who land ever so slightly on any piece of exposed flesh, and using I know not what oral protrusions, sink into one’s flesh, leaving a tiny red welt with a miniscule blood blister at the center. The itching that this small nuisance creates is really no small nuisance at all, but rather the kind of constant annoyance that leads one to scratch their skin raw before they have even noticed they were itching. At the moment, I do not even want to begin to count the number of these bumps on my lower legs, all over my arms and shoulders, my neck, and most importantly my feet. I am afraid knowing the sheer number would only serve to make me more aware of the bites. For the moment, I am trying to avoid making the combination of the punctures and the bruising from my itching on my neck resemble hickies. Other than that, I already appear to have the chicken pox.
Though I am trying to be very zen about this whole buggy experience, observe the pains and the sensations and all that, I really am ready to fumigate the world population of black flies. Just a quick meditation on hostility toward some of God’s creatures, and on how sometimes, it really is just the little discomforts that really get to a person. Though I heartily acknowledge that with black fly bites being the only thing I currently have to worry about, I have too many blessings to count…