Flies. They’re everywhere in my home. Why? Because I have a dog, Toby, who insists on opening the screen door to my deck when I’m not home to bark at his four-legged neighbors. He also enjoys catching flies when he can and eating them. Yes, I could shut the sliding glass door to prevent this, but he relishes in being outdoors, so what the hell?

He wants out, and the flies want in. I envision a swarm of them buzzing outside the door when I leave for work taunting the little guy with chants of, “Open it. Open it now.”

 

Anyway, I always come home to find a handful of the ones that managed to escape Tobias P. Fluffigan’s evil clutches. I stood watching one of them recently as it buzzed around my bedroom in an annoying aimless pattern, and I pondered, “Why be a fly? What’s the point?”

 

In other words, why be aimless? When I feel myself buzzing out of control, I force a landing and refocus. I’m a big fan of showing purpose through action. Aimlessness just leaves us vulnerable to the chomping jaws of wasted time or the crushing blow of an “I should have known better” swatter.

 

Aimlessness can simply buzz off – or, to quote my furry friend, “Snarl, grrrr, CHOMP!”