...all those times I sat there

I arrived home after long and unexpectedly social leisure bike ride this monday and took a nice nap. Then I woke up and began the long-postponed process of cleaning my room.

I succeeded.

I then moved on to my CR, or "comfort room", not to do a real scrub down but just to clear out some of the excess arachnids. When I was dumping water over the top of my toilet (because you dump water everywhere in bathrooms here when you are cleaning, it all just goes down the drain), a suprising number of ants flowed across the bathroom floor.

I took off the toilet tank cover and didn't see anything odd. I've just been gravity flushing the toilet because the pipe that refills it leaks, so the tank was empty as expected. What wasn't empty was the lid in my hands. Large and clunky and ceramic, it was also hollow, with three small holes, through which the ants had been marching for months, establishing a nice comfy colony right there on top of my water closet.

Now, I've grown quite used to giving the ants the run of my room, provided they aren't red and stay away from my toothbrush and my bed. But this was a bit much. So I spent the next hour pouring water in one of the little holes in the lid and watching ants and more ants and various ant-related biomass stream out the other two. Every five minutes or so I would set down the lid, rinse off my appendages, and then rinse down the walls, which were covered with ants trying to get to higher ground.

Once the ant flows and my conflicting feelings of genocidal guilt and maniacal omnipotentcy subsided, I went and made myself some dinner.