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. But if I suddenly reorganize the pantry by atomic weight… you’ll know the aliens sold the pilot.

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.