Every time it rains, I’m faced with a moral quandary. See, I’m sure you’ve noticed the worms. Perhaps you’ve taken a step out of the way to avoid smushing a worm when you’re walking around puddles. Perhaps you are even one of a bold few who pluck worms up from the sidewalk and toss them into the grass, saving them from a dried-up shrivelly death. But I take it a step further. When it rains, and when the worms come crawling out onto the sidewalk, I become wracked with guilt and misanthropy.

Here’s the thing. I have a strong inclination to pluck up and save every writhing worm from a shrivelly death. You’ve seen the horrific aftermath of a rain shower— tiny little string carcasses, making alphabet letters on the sidewalk. We can’t have that. I can’t have that. Plus, I’m convinced that horrible smell after a rain shower is the worm carnage. But then I tell myself, “rain is natural, worms are natural. I’m sure worms’ natural behavior is to crawl out of the ground when it rains.” Perhaps I’m actually doing them a disservice and not saving them from a shrivelly death, but condemning them to a watery grave! So then, I shouldn’t pluck up and save them.

But then I remember that sidewalks aren’t natural. And worms haven’t lived with sidewalks long enough to develop urban survival tactics. They probably aren’t just cutting their losses, knowing while it’s a slim chance for survival, they’ve got a better chance on the sidewalks than in the drowny grass. They’re probably heading for the hills. For higher ground, tree roots, or drier dirt. The sidewalks DO kill the worms. They’re also tough and scratchy, and difficult to traverse when you’ve got no legs or spine.

Drowning in the mud isn’t so great either, though.

So I’m not a plucker and saver anymore. No. But not because I don’t care. Not because it grosses me out to touch them.

I don’t save the worms anymore because it throws me into a broken state of confusion and despair even to begin thinking about the consequences.