The rules of the road

A fly was buzzing around my head off and on all day yesterday. Since the weather has changed from summer to fall I've seen a lot of these little guys looking for new places to live. The housing crisis must be a problem for them similar to the problem being face by those of us with only two legs, but I'm not about to open my doors for them to move in. There are contaminants enough being brought in by grandkids. I just don't need any more things to worry about. I would swat at this fly with my hand when it landed within arms reach and was only giving it exercise and a chance to mock me. It wasn't going to be a good relationship and we needed to end it soon.
I like Ed Abbey's take on living things. In “Desert Solitaire” he said, "I'm a humanist. I'd rather kill a man than a snake." I don't know if I feel that strongly about it, but I do like the sentiment. This fly was straining the relationship I have with the natural world/human world interface. We were not making progress toward a de-escalation in hostilities, but moving toward a serious confrontation. I would come to the table with plans and proposals, my needs and expectations and wait to review the materials offered by the fly. Nothing came. He was stonewalling me and expanding his territory and thumbing his proboscis at me by landing on food and utensils. All of them places clearly outlined in my negotiation documents that were being ignored. There was a confrontation brewing, but I was attempting to find ways to avoid violence if I could. I opened the door so he could go to the screen and use that as eventual access to the outside world where another place of refuge might be found. He ignored my offer and landed in the fruit dish and wandered from apple to banana and back, mocking me once again. This was getting personal.
It's always amazed me that we can drive hundreds and thousands of miles and never crash into another car. Think about it for just a moment if you please. Each of us locked inside our own steel, plastic and glass machine barreling down our 10 foot wide section of highway at high speed, with all of these internal and external distractions and we do it safely. The rules of the road prevail. Even when we find those jerks who make their own rules and fail to signal or drive within 15 or 20 miles per hour of the recommended speed, our understanding of the rules work to keep us safe. It happens at times that two vehicles attempt to violate physics and occupy the same space at the same time. Usually its a small space and the result is a 'fender-bender'. Occasionally it's a large space they try to share and the results are serious, even deadly. The amazing thing is it doesn't happen all that often considering how many cars there are on the streets at any one time. Add to this the fact that each of those drivers is locked inside their own brain-case and some of them are mis-wired, malfunctioning, unfocused or closely focused on anything other than the operation of the vehicle, and it whole thing becomes nearly a miracle. 'Faith and Begorrah', we're all potential saints. I find it even more daunting that the average vehicle has thousands of parts, most of which are critical to safe travel and were manufactured by disgruntled workers after a bad fight with their spouse or kids. They don't know me and couldn't care less if I'm safe as I drive to the store for my weekly supply of bacon. If I die in a horrible accident because the framus came loose and flew into the discombobulator that they failed to secure, I'm just another statistic that will never be part of their life. All for my desire to eat a little bacon.
We constantly are making decisions as we do our daily time travel, bringing the other three dimensions into the equation as well as an awareness of all these other stable and moving objects out there. It shouldn't be as safe as it turns out to be. Time is ours to use and timing our turns, stops and accelerations is critical to our successful completion of each and every day. We grasp the operational nature of it, but not the math and science behind it. If we had to do that as well, we would probably die in our chairs, unable to successfully put food in our mouth or get out of the way of a runaway vacuum cleaner. The fly mocked me and refused to negotiate. He was convinced that his skill in flight, multi-faceted eyes and quick reaction times would be enough to homestead here in my house. I escalated the battle and with the extended reach of my light green plastic flyswatter on the wire handle, proved that he needed to improve his timing. Or at least he needed to learn the rules of the road. My road.