Saturday, October 9, 2010

Day 5: Not a creature was stirring, not even a--Wait! Hold the phone...

Fear. What a concept.
One that is different for every single one of us. 
And yet, it's so easy to trivialize another person's personal set because it doesn't match up with our own.

Yesterday (and still today) it's me against the mouse.
Laugh, sure. Sounds ridiculous and irrational. Me: 5"9 vs. It: 6cm.
But it's beyond fear, it's phobia!
People don't seem to get that part. 
A few people who know me reallllly well, know that it's a big one. 
(I mean, even squirrels freak me out!)
But I have seen more live mice and the big "R"'s than many of you, I am certain.
I have been told my fear seems to attract them from the Universe. 
(Not very nice of the Universe, if you ask me).  
I'm a huge clean freak for this very reason. 
I vacuum for sport. 
And I have taken up the autumn-time hobby of caulking (teehee) my base boards since moving a block away from a mountain.  
I could be anywhere (like a busy, noisy cafe writing for instance) and one will graze MY foot (which, by the way, entailed me freaking out silently, throwing money on the tabletop and flying outta there Kramer-styles, much to the bewilderment of the other patrons).
I know people with messy apartments, visible holes in their walls and floors (that I point out to them).... so why did it choose MY walls? 
Why the long weekend, when I seriously need to regroup and get rest? 
Why now that I am enjoying the TV off, and the whir of my computer fan as I type away again for the first time in months?
Yesterday, when I heard the squeaking, I literally grabbed my purse and hightailed it to Hotel Mom & Dad.
My poor folks had to come today, and find the stupid hole under the sink. 
For three hours they steel wooled-duct taped-nailed wood-set strategic traps and helped me obsessively clean EVERYTHING in my place.

When we finally sat down to relax: 
Them: It's gonna be ok tonight, honey. No way that thing is coming in here.
Me: It better not, it's not paying rent.

Later, when they put on their coats to leave, I head to the kitchen to put plates and glasses in the sink. 
Low and behold I hear scratching and rustling. 
The damn thing is trying to come back in!
It's persistently scratching it's way through our layers of "don't you dare you stupid vermin" steel wool and nails!
I throw up in my mouth a little (not going to lie).
They look at eachother tired, take their coats off and sit back down on the couch.

Me: It's ok guys. Go home.
Them: There's no way it's going to get through. And if it does, there's the trap. You'll hear it.
Me: Wonderful.
Them: Honey, we're tired. Sleep over again tonight.
Me: No. Damn it. I can do this. (I can't).

It's going to be a long night.
Fear is such a dumbass.
Anyone want to come over for a late night Scrabble match?

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