Overheard in my office this morning:
Secretary 1: So, I went to this wedding reception last night, and it was so much fun. There were all these people from England there, and you know how they usually are, all...
Secretary 2: Stiff?
S1: Yes, but they were really a lot of fun!
S2: Really!
I'm stiff, not deaf.
My goal for this week has been To Get More Sleep. I need a lot of sleep, especially in winter, and lately it hasn't been happening. And, as a Health Professional, I have Degrees and have read Professional Journal Articles that tell me that Sleep is Important. The fact that you can gain the exact same knowledge from reading Shape magazine causes me to question the value of the money I spent on my education, but I try not to dwell on that too much. Shape doesn't teach you biostatistics, after all.
So, I made it to bed around 11 PM -- well, 11:30 PM for two nights in a row, and woke up with the bloom of youth on my cheek and feeling peaceful and well rested, wouldn't you think? If you would, you would be mistaken. I never usually remember my dreams, but for the last two mornings I've woken up to the most horrific ones. One was sci-fi horror, and involved someone trying to kill me with glowing blue bullety things, until I killed him in a way that, frankly, I thought I was far too nicely brought up and gentle to do. The other involved me in a weird Jane Eyre-meets-Brothers Grimm story where someone was trying to force me into marriage with some guy who someone told me was my ‘real’ father. Ew, right?
Believe me, I am NOT asking for interpretation of these dreams. I'm pretty sure it can't be good, and I'd rather not know. And before you ask, the last movie I watched was To Catch a Thief, preceded by Sense and Sensibility, and I am currently reading How Green Was My Valley and the Relief Society manual. I’m also not on drugs, licit or otherwise.
Maybe sleep deprivation wasn't so awful after all.
I’m going to bed soon. Wish me luck.
*Does blogging about my dreams mean I’ve reached a new blogging low? I think it might.
My niece “Gertrude,” apropos of absolutely nothing:
“I wouldn’t want to eat the neck part of the chicken because that’s where all the throw up comes out of.”
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Sadly, that is not the title of my new favourite band; it is a DESCRIPTION of what is happening in my HOUSE. [Warning: Readers who are easily shocked should be aware—there may be a lot of capitalised words in this post.]
I got home, and noticed that in the kitchen, there was fine grey dust over the counter by the fridge, and big clumps of dust on the floor next to it. This is weird because I cleaned behind the fridge and vacuumed the coils only last week. I asked my roomie if she knew what it was- she didn't, and had a far more important issue to share. She had seen a MOUSE that evening by the dishwasher!!! Now, I'm not particularly creeped out by mice, per se. I have dealt with them and with traps before, and I find spiders much scarier, but I do object to having my castle infested by rodents. Ick! Gluh! Blech!
I immediately went and bought four traps, and the nice lady in Smiths reassured me that she didn't think I was a dirty squatter who eats off the floor. She says that it's the cold weather driving them indoors. My mum says the same thing, and that it doesn't mean I'm living in squalor and never wash. I could tell the Smiths lady definitely thought I was a girly wimp for wanting a somewhat humane killing method, though. I must admit I doubt the effectiveness of traps that aren't springloaded and don't have cheese bait, but we'll see.
We pulled the refrigerator out, rather apprehensively. I must admit I was imagining a scene of horror, reminiscent of plague-era Europe, with a mice-nest, roaches, rats, and possibly an open sewer. But no, just more dust. Which is just as well. If I actually saw a cockroach I think I'd have to burn the place down and move out. Hm. Perhaps reverse the order of those two.
It gets creepier. This morning I walked into the kitchen, the traps were still empty, but there was MORE DUST. In the EXACT same places. So I spent MORE time vacuuming and cleaning. I was so discomfited I put shampoo on my shower pouf this morning and nearly went to work without a bra. It's got to be mouse-related, right? Or do I have a dusty poltergeist? Please, do any of you have explanations? (Note: explanations should not involve giant spiders, cockroaches, or anything else likely to give me nightmares. Perhaps explanations could involve fairies.)
Now none of you are ever going to want to visit my house again, and I will end up a sad lonely spinster without even a dozen cats for company, because condo rules don't allow it. Of course, if they did, this whole problem could be eliminated, because the cat would KILL and EAT the mouse. Though, are cats even mousers, these days? They're probably too busy with their custom built scratching posts and iPods.
I am trying not to be paranoid about mice running over me in the night and am instead working on imagining the mouse as one that might be found in a Disney movie – it talks, sings, and perhaps will make me a pretty new frock.
