TL;DR I love these fucking bugs and these are all the reasons why.
I'm including backstory, but it's hidden in case you don't want the sob story.
March 2011. Brood XIX Emerges.
I'd just left an abuse relationship. Well, kinda left. Long(er) story so we'll save that on for later, shall we? I'd been living with my best friend, but that also fell apart very quickly. Things were so bad, I'd been forced to send my oldest two children to live with their grandparents for safekeeping since the DV shelter I was attempted to get a room in didn't have room for all of us. They ended up not having room for me and the younger two, anyway, and were actively attempting to send me to another shelter in a state I didn't even live in. One day, I decided I couldn't wait any longer. I packed what little I could cram into my Dodge Caravan - a handful of clothing, my rabbits, a computer, a few odds and ends - and left every single thing I owned behind. I slept in my van, or sometimes on my dad's couch. I let my ex keep our younger children until I got my youngest one back with head injuries, where he'd been leaving my baby with a horrible crackass woman he was (maybe successfully?) trying to bang. My baby stayed with me after that, even though he didn't have a bed or anything. He preferred being homeless with his mama. I felt like fucking shit for failing him and the others so hard. I should have removed myself from that situation years ago, I shouldn't have allowed it to go on as long as I did, because I'd thoroughly fucked myself over with wishful thinking and Disney happy endings. I was suicidal, and literally the only thing keeping me from hurling myself into traffic was the thought of sending my sweet four year old back to live with a bunch of drunk, methed out, wife-swapping assholes who'd abuse him again. And that was the year The Great Southern Brood emerged. I don't have any pictures or anything to share. The second hand phone I'd been given was a prepaid thing I rarely had money to blow on, so any pictures/video I'd taken in those days is long gone, but I remember. They caught me by surprise, at first. I knew they were cicadas, but they looked funny. Skinny, long (heh heh), and they had these intense red eyes that were honestly kind of creepy at first. We woke up one day to about a dozen of them, and by the end of the week there had to be thousands. And they just kept coming. What sounded at first like the low drone of heavy machinery in the far distance soon became a steady, strong and constant hum of what had to be millions of individuals in the treetops of my dad's neighborhood. I romanticize it a bit, but I kinda understand why some people see them as a nuisance. There wasn't a day that went by where you weren't picking 10 of them out of your hair, or have one slam itself into your face full speed like a clumsy little brick with wings. I've been through a lot since then. I used to think of that time period as my rebirth, but I don't anymore. It's more like, these last 10ish years have offered me a very slow period of awakening - a lot of growth, a lot of learning, a lot of setbacks, but also a shit ton of self awareness that I did not have back then - and by the time Brood XIX returns in 2024, I'll finally be ready to emerge with them.
If you know me, you know I am OBSESSED with cicadas in all their forms, but especially Magicicada, particularly the 13 year variety. 13 happens to be a very appropriate number for them, too, as the 13th Major Arcana in most tarot decks happens to be Death.
Dude, hang tight, I promise you I'm going somewhere with this, just gimme a second, okay?
This card also happens to be associated with Scorpio and Pluto. I'm a scorpio, so I'm taking this shit and running with it.
Okay, see, (XIII) Death isn't just about death. This is transition and rebirth. These are our great milestones in life, the periods of change that come as we exit childhood to become adults, become parents for the first time, get married or divorced, graduate, whatever. These are the moments when you can never go back to the way things were before.
And for some reason, we like to associate those moments with butterflies.
I mean, I get it, Really, I do. Fat chubby caterpillar enters its metamorphosis phase and exits as a whole new, beautiful creature. That's pretty fucking symbolic.
Except, I was NEVER a butterfly gal. I can't relate. Happily engorging myself on tasty things, weaving a magical chrysalis of wonder and joy, peacefully napping as a deconstructed puddle of goo until the
I told you, it's an obsession
marvelous day I emerge with brightly colored wings and spindly legs and a long, pokey mouth thing for sucking on flowers. Must be nice.
No. I relate more to the dark and brooding Magicicada, who spend years in the dark underground, where the light is hidden from them. When they do eventually emerge, they do so at night, tunneling their way up up up. Up. Up. Up.
And it doesn't end there. Once they're out, they have to keep going, searching for some place high enough where they might be safe from most predators. They don't get to build a pretty little cocoon to hide away in and wait for the change to come. No snoozefest or cozy naptime; they have only hours to drag themselves through the earth, find a place to attach themselves with their bare legs, crack their way out of their own filthy skin, and....
I TOLD YOU
...and it's not like they come out of this unrecognizable. They're not a whole new creature, completely unrelated except in DNA to the thing they once were. They remain very much the same. A little bit bigger, maybe, a little less dirty, and they now have wings and can sing.
I imagine, when my change comes, it'll be very much the same. Shedding old, dirty skin that no longer fits. Enjoying the view from the top. Singing my own praises.
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