A Sweaty Lady in Her 50s Killing Bugs

The week Robin lost control.

It’s a bit of a crazy week here at the Hopkins household. We’re in full swing at school and in the middle of the NYC High School search for my son. If you’re like me and went to your local high school like every other kid in town, you may not truly appreciate the stress of getting into a high school in NYC. Picture college applications but with a hexagonal lottery system and three swimlanes of school choice,  including specialized high schools, charters, and other screened schools with varying screening systems. 

I just threw up in my own mouth.

The other things that I’m currently worried about include, but are not limited to:

1. Freelance jobs and their lack of security.

2. Kids growing up and wanting to go to parties that I do not want them to go to.

3. Prepping kids for PSATs, SATs, and SHSATs.

4. Real estate taxes.

5. Election cycles with lunatics making insane and also false declarations. Then half of America going, “Well, eggs are expensive, so I’ll just ignore all that crazy talk.”

6. Results of PSATs, SATs and SHSATs

7. Menopause and one’s expanding midsection. That one’s for a friend. (Shhhh)

8. Intrusive thoughts such as: what is the point of all this?

9. Intrusive thoughts at 3 am, such as: should I get up to shut the hallway light off? 

10. The price of eggs. (I know.)

Needless to say, if my eyebrows start to fall out, I won’t be one bit surprised.  

Yes I want to forcefully control all that is in my orbit, but even I have realized that I’m beyond my depths here. Someone else is driving the ship, and I’m going to have to trust they’re not drunk.

This week, I’m doing what I can to–now, see, here I really want to say take back control, but the slightly healed part of me (she’s currently squashed beneath several Snickers bars) is screaming, “Robin, you can not control this!” And I can sort of hear her through the caramel and nougat, so I’ve started taking walks again. I’m also trying to clean up the mess that has become my diet and focus on letting things go whenever possible. 

For those concerned, let me just say this: I did manage to email my old therapist and say, “Hey. You up?” 

I’m working on it, folks.

But in the midst of the madness, I wanted to share an anecdote from my journey toward breathing deeper and keeping my eyebrows intact. 

A few days ago on my morning walk in the park, I saw a man stopped at a tree. I was curious, and as I walked closer, I realized he was killing those horrible spotted lanternflies. 

He had his shoe off and was smacking them as he said to me, “God. They’re just everywhere.” I nodded, knowing full well that me and that dude were pretty darn similar. Also, I knew that me and that dude would rule if we stumbled into a zombie apocalypse-type situation together.

I walked past him, and a lightbulb went off in my head. I must help my new best friend kill every spotted lantern fly in NYC.

I went back the next day and searched for the tree. Had my zombie apocalypse pal (let’s call him ZAP) made a difference? I passed the tree several times without noticing (those fuckers have a natural camouflage when stuck onto a tree,) which forced me to double back several times. 

Then I found the tree. It was jet black. I’m not a botanist, but that can’t be a good sign. Okay,  I might not be able to save this one, but I remembered an article I read a few weeks earlier that said the city’s spotted lanternfly squishing efforts were making a significant difference, so game on, you little fuckers.

We may have already lost a tree or two, but I wasn’t going to let them get any more trees. No more trees! Do you hear me, spotted lanternflies? 

I found a downed branch and began squishing the ones that ZAP had missed the day before. I’m not going to lie, folks; it was super gross. A yellow-like substance squirted out, and I feared smacking one off the tree onto me. But I persisted. I will spare you the details, but let’s just say I killed a lot of bugs that day.

I couldn’t get to the ones that were 20 feet up the tree despite throwing my downed branch at them, and I didn’t care for that, but man, I can only do what I can do. 

I went back today on my morning walk, found the same tree, and I am thrilled to report that it was mostly filled with smashed carcasses from my work the day before. 

Well done, insane Robin, well done. 

I got busy killing a few more that had arrived overnight when I looked up and saw a 20-something couple jog by me just as I was wildly swinging a dead tree branch and jumping around, all weird-like, so I didn’t get hit by dead bugs.  I’m pretty sure I looked insane with my wild, wiry, unwashed hair, my Kamala t-shirt, and Old Navy sweatpants. Did I mention I was flop sweating because we’re in the middle of that “is it summer or fall?” season and also, um, perimenopause? 

AI wouldn’t let me make a Kamala Harris T-shirt. Boo.

I probably should have been embarrassed– you should have seen their faces as they looked back at me while they ran away. But, I would not be deterred from my mission. I’m helping the environment, people!

Yes. I acknowledge that I may be substituting my pursuit of killing ALL NYC-based spotted lanternflies for the stress and lack of control that I’m currently feeling in my regular life. The healed gal beneath the Snickers bars has been shouting at me all day. 

I’ll listen later, though, because I have an essential job to do. Also, I’m late for therapy.

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PS: This here Substack page will be bi-weekly for now because, well… you read the above, and also because I’m cooking up something special (a new project perhaps?) for the spring. Stay tuned, people. Stay tuned.