28 October 2006

The Official Mouse Breakdown

I should be writing about something fun and sexy. I should be confessing a juicy bit or two about that time I drunkenly made out with one of my girlfriends or describing to you that panty shopping extravaganza. You know something giggly and girly - something flirty and foxy. But no...I'm still dealing with Mr. Jingles here and it's honestly putting my mood off. I must admit, however, my mood was put off days ago. Maybe it is the arrival of shorter days and the winter. The mouse in my house just gives me that last straw, that reason to have a big ol' messy breakdown in the middle of my kitchen.

If you read my last post, I wrote about the discovery of a mouse in my apartment. Clearly, this mouse is taunting me. The mouse only seems to grace my presence. It never comes out when my boyfriend is home. And this, I fear, makes me look crazy! Oh no, it stays wherever he set up camp. The boyfriend leaves the room and I enter that same room - and there it is. Taunting me, laughing its mousy laugh. Of course, it somewhat behaves itself when my partner is home and that's fine. He goes away for the weekend and let the fun and games begin. Great.

Last night, I was talking on the phone to a friend and saw it skedaddle across the counter, jump behind the fridge, and run under the washing machine. I let out this stupidly girly squeal on the phone. I can handle it running across the floor for dropped crumbs or what have you. I can almost handle that. Once it starts crawling on the counter...that's another story. I stood there and thought what the fuck am I doing wrong here? I clean up, I keep the counters clean, and all food is kept well packed and away. It's still running across my fucking counter and I have absolutely no heart to go out and buy a mouse trap. Oh, I can buy the mouse trap but I don't want to see or deal with a dead mouse carcass. That is NOT in my job description.

I clean up the kitchen again. I wipe the counters down again. I sit down to smoke a cigarette. I decide to touch up my nail polish. I walk into the kitchen to grab the bottle of polish and look! The fucker is on the counter again and disappears INTO THE STOVE ELEMENT! And then I had my mental breakdown.

Like I said, I can handle if it was just running across the floor. No, it's not my idea of fun but I don't prepare food on the floor. Now, this little rodent is not only running across my counter but is pooping in my oven. Pooping my oven! My eyes fill with stupid tears. I call my mom.

I love my mom but sometimes she can be a little morbid. I whine to her about my mouse problem and how it went into the stove and all I want is her to say that everything is going to be okay. I want to be coddled. Just for once, coddle me. Anyone, please. I am surrounded by realists. Tell me that I'm good and everything will be okay and that I'm loved and I have not much to worry about. Nope, I don't get that - well...only from my sister - thank God for her. Mom tells me to hit it. Kill it with a pan, she says. Chase it out the house with a broom and kill it. Poison cheese with bleach. She goes on and on about the different ways to kill this pest while my dad is piping in the background with a hearty "kill it with a flyswatter! kill it with a fly swatter!” And to make matters worse, she tells me that mice can chew wires and I should watch out. This very mouse can set my apartment on fire. Thanks, mom. She tells me I should do this and that, clean out the stove as well. And then it dawned on me, I'm turning 30 soon and I don't even know how to clean out my oven - let alone deal with mice on my own.

And then I called my sister and cried like a baby. Not only am I getting old; I'm living in an apartment with a mouse problem that only is a visible problem when I am home alone, I don't even know how to clean my oven, and I'm going to wake up to a blazing fire in my apartment. And worst of all? I have been feeling very lonely these last few days. I don't have anyone to call up and vent to in this city. And it's probably my own damned fault.

I suppose this entire mouse thing is the last straw. I know this funk I am in is not all about the mouse. Bah, crying while I write a blog makes me feel fifteen years old.

I haven't taken care of the mouse. I put bowls and pot lids over the elements. Mom suggested sprinkling laundry detergent around the place it always seems to hide away to. I haven't seen it since. Yeah, I know it's avoiding the problem. I don't want to use the oven or the stove. I don't want to even use the toaster. Was it lounging around in there too? Have I been cooking and baking my food with mouse dropping nearby? I'm sorry, but that's fucking gross. I guess I should be a bit grateful - I haven't seen multiple mice, the droppings on the floor/counter have been very minimal, and my apartment hasn't started on fire yet.

Thank GOD we are moving out soon. Thank GOD we are getting a new stove that doesn't have the standard elements. Thank GOD that our new place isn't surrounded by idiots - landlords and tenants, who think it is okay to pile waist deep garbage in the fire escape and leave the doors open for mice and cracked out squatters. I can't wait to get out of here.

I just need a little help. Help with packing. Help with the mouse. I feel I am doing all of this on my own. I'm tired of being alone.


Tags:
Domestic
,Loneliness,Mice,Mouse,Sad

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