There is a mouse running around my bedroom that is the size of the fucking Mouse King in the Nutcracker. Mike left a half eaten cookie on our nightstand and the fuzzy little fuck was all 'NOM NOM TIME". It sat there mocking me as I clapped loudly and boisterously at it. I then started yelling at it stuff like " GET DOWN RIGHT NOW DO YOU HEAR ME MOUSE?, I SAID GET DOWNNN!" My serious tone of voice was used, it still didn't care. Instead, it ducked down behind one of my books and was probably twittering to its filthy friends to come on up because there's good eats and a fucking real live comedian.
There is a serious mouse infestation happening and I am unable, and ill prepared to handle it. They took over the kitchen first. Shitting all over the microwave and counter tops like their feces was spun of pure gold and I would be delighted if not honored to find it. I was not. They ripped up bag upon bag of oriental flavored Ramen noodles. Bars of granola were destroyed, egg noodles, my sense of self preservation. It is making me insane and extremely paranoid. I feel like a Schizophrenic on PCP. Every noise I hear I am jumping up and banging on tables and walls to scare the "mice". I read that you can smell them, a musty, oily homeless kind of smell. Now every time I breath in I am all " THEY ARE HERE I SMELL THEM!" I am pretty sure Mike thinks I have lost what little sanity I have manged to retain over the years. This shit is intense though. You have no idea how fierce they are. Little flea ridden hantavirus infested warriors. Nothing seems to deter them, they see their family members squealing for help on glue traps with pieces of potato chip hanging out of their mouths, their black little eyes saying " Don't go down my path...it 's not worth it". Yet they march on determined to make my house their breeding ground.
Last night I lulled myself into a false sense of security. My bed I though, was a "safe zone". I was wrong. I heard it under the bed scratching trying to find a way onto my pillow top mattress so it could dominate the situation and gain control of the bedroom. I was not happy. All I wanted to do was watch a fucking Michael Cera movie and I could not pay attention because I had to keep stopping to jump up and down on the bed to "scare" the mouse. I must have looked like I used crack as a motivational substance. That way I had TONS of energy to fluff out the feathers in the mattress pad for hours on end. I was not ok. Nothing about last night was OK. Every time I drifted off to sleep I would hear its dirt bag feet skittering across my floor just, daring me to close my eyes. Because when I did... there would be blood. Oh yes, there would be blood. Mice bite, I have been bitten by them, they also harbor a long long list of both pulmonary and digestive diseases. I do not really need that in my life right now because my health insurance does not kick in until October. And even if I did have it now, it would not matter because when something serious is wrong I refuse to acknowledge it and wont go to the Dr. My coping skills apparently can only handle little things like burning toast, or forgetting to turn the lights out. Anything above that level of stress my brain shuts down and goes into "safe mode". Safe Mode has very limited functions. Those functions being breathing and going to the bathroom. This is no good seeing as I have a job and responsibilities to attend to.
Mike had to work a double shift last night and did not come home until 1 am. I was forced to deal with the mouse all alone. I was not ready. I was however, really ready not to be ready. My night consisted of me sitting on the bed surrounded in pillows for protective purposes, randomly jumping on the bed and yelling things like " AH AH AH AH AH BAHHHHHH" to make sure that they knew I meant business. By the time Mike came home I was exhausted and angry. Angry at him for leaving me alone all night with the mice and angry at the mice for being born. I was also angry with the house for being so shitty and old and having so many fuck face cracks that it allows everything to get into our home. Instead of being a personal haven and a place of comfort it makes me unusually nervous, jittery, anxiety ridden, and stab-y when I am here. Especially when alone.
Tomorrow is Judgment day. We are going to the Home Depot to purchase as least $200.00 in mouse murdering materials. I am very anti hurting animals but at this point, I want all the traps we buy to hurt as much as possible.That way when the other mice see their friends dying they will think twice before invading my Ramen noodle stash and go inhabit someone the fuck else's house. NOT HERE MOTHER FUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!!!! BRING IT!
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