Of the many uses for the fruit fly (of which, I know none, but I’m sure there are some), one of the best must be as a proxy for things and/or people that anger us. How else to explain the vigor — sometimes, as tonight, leading to self-harm — with which we pursue them? Or, the pleasure at a smack that meets its mark? It’s as if every little tingly nerve and angry bit in my body is released when I can say, “Gotcha!”
That may make me a bad person. I’m kind of okay with it, though.