The fly in the ointment

I usually see flies about me, in this medium sized room (15x15) buzzing erratically around the room in attempts to extricate themselves from this shithole of human negligence. They are always met with the same problem, that of the glass window or the perforated screen. The fly or flies trying to escape (return?) to the outside world usually seem to be in desperation. There are those, however, such as the one sitting motionless on the screen at the moment, that feel the need to become the proverbial fly on the wall. It may crawl about, slowly, but it just sits for the most part and because background. If it's so inclined, it'll fly around, but in a more calm and smooth pattern, especially if the ceiling fan is on. I create wind, and the fly feels more at ease. I could easily kill it, but the day is burning away and I need to depart soon.

The demarcation problem the fly faces (perched on the screen, living at the fringe of freedom) reflects the problem my soon-to-be former roommates face; to sit idly inside and occasionally buzz around, versus being free to act as a fly should on the outside of your insular world. The fly has not created this world for itself, though the later (roommates) certainly have with their sloth-like lack of ambition and unhealthy obsession with things like anime and gaming, traits most have abandoned once the age of sixteen rolled by. Unlike the roommates (geek-sloths) the calm fly seems to be the impartial observer, actively intent on being passive. I can almost admire this, if i can admire anything about a fly. It has been coaxed into this situation via an open window, sans screen, and inviting opening for a fly. To exit, to defenestrate through that same window is a feat most flies seems to have a hard time grasping. However, the fly has flown into a shithole, and it must feel somewhat at home.