Alien Larvae and the 2 AM Brain

I’ve had some weird body shenanigans lately. A few days ago, translucent, squiggly little… larvae drifted through my vision. Yesterday I got so dizzy for about four hours that standing felt like a group project I wasn’t prepared for. I spoke with a nurse; she said to ring my doctor if it got worse. (Duly noted.)

Cut to 2 a.m., when my brain clocked in for the night shift. Instead of sleeping, I started storyboarding: what if this is the opening scene of a Sci-Fi movie? Not skinny green aliens—too obvious. These are tiny masterminds who lay eggs on mall sunglasses and wait for us to play dress-up. The eggs hatch, the larvae go for a swim in your eyeballs like it’s Club Med, then slip behind the eyes to grow—close enough to the ears to throw off balance. Phase three: they move into the brain, put up a tasteful studio apartment, and start nudging your thoughts toward whatever benefits them.

And that’s where Hollywood has choices. What is “beneficial” to a parasite alien? They evolved somewhere, so their dream world probably looks like their home planet. Maybe they love dim skies and higher humidity. Maybe they require total silence at 3 p.m. and a long rant about crabgrass ordinances. Maybe they’re big on order and turn us into list-makers with color-coded spreadsheets.

The only constraint: we have to survive. Their little HOA-from-space still needs human hosts, so whatever updates they push can’t kill the neighborhood.

Anyway, that’s where my 2 a.m. went: me, my floaters, and a parasite pitch deck. If nothing else, note to self—stop trying on communal sunglasses. And yes, if the symptoms come back, I’ll call the doctor.

It turns out that when the body gets strange, the mind doesn’t panic—it drafts a proposal.

The night my eyeballs went cinematic

Postscript, from the non-Hollywood department: not aliens—migraine aura. Turns out it can toss squiggles across your vision and wobble your balance, sometimes with zero headache. Annoying? Yes. Invasion? No.