Bad days. We’ve all had them. In fact, I have a had a few reaching epic proportions. There was Brown Tuesday back in 2003. And then the Perfect Storm of 2011, and then there was yesterday.
The Year of Jan is coming to an explosive conclusion. After twelve months at home full time, I’m going back to teaching in a few days. To maximize my school-prep efficiency, I went into school in the evening. I’m easily distracted so working at night is best for my time-management.
Sit back and I’ll tell you the tale.
It was a dark and stormy night. No, for real, it was. I spent an hour or two organizing my space and getting settled back in to school. There was no one else in the building, but I’ve been in after hours before and no longer jump when the lights automatically turn on. Knowing ahead of time that our sixty-year-old building has mice makes me a little less jittery when I hear the odd scurry in the ceiling tiles.
After a successful blitz of paper cutting and pencil sharpening, it was time to head out. But I really needed to pee. Curse you, Tim Hortons and your dark roast. This call of nature caused quite a conundrum: Pee with the door open? Close the door and get stabbed by an unknown intruder? Or wait until I get home?
I went with option C.
Next it was time to exit the building. This involves swiping out, and absolutely NOT setting off the alarm. I managed that successfully, but then of course had to wait and test that I really did lock the door.
Despite being an adult, the walk across the dark playground to the parking is terrifying. So the obvious choice is to run. Like a little kid. Squealing. Did I drop my wallet who cares there’s no time don’t go back just get to the car someone is lurking at the side ready to stab you at the first opportunity.
It was a fire hydrant. But a very ominous-looking fire hydrant. Also, your own hair flapping in your face does feel exactly like someone trying to kidnap you. And your reflection in the windshield does look like a serial killer. BUT I SURVIVED.
Nothing takes the edge off a stressful drive home better than a few episodes of Breaking Bad. (I might start my own life-coaching business, stay tuned).
Around midnight I thought it was time to head to bed and at that exact moment I heard the snap of a mousetrap. I turned and saw a tail sticking out from under the stove. It was definitely time to go to bed. I am surprisingly adept at running through the kitchen with one eye closed and switching off the sink light all while squealing like a little kid. Do not look at the mouse corpse are you crying, woman, toughen up and get out of there it’s probably coming to get you.
Normally I would inform my husband about the dead rodent, but ever since the Buzzy Fly Burglar Incident, I’m not allowed to do that anymore.
The adrenaline coupled with the caffeine from my coffee (curse you, Tim Hortons and your revved up elixir) made sleeping difficult. But I lulled myself to dreamland by thinking peaceful thoughts like “what if it was a pregnant mouse and it’s dead but the babies aren’t and it’s all wiggling around?”
The following morning we were awakened by whispered shouts of “THERE’S A DEAD MOUSE IN THE KITCHEN IT’S SO COOL WELL IT’S NOT REALLY DEAD LOOK AT IT FLIP AND DO TRICKS”.
In case you’re wondering, zombie mice are real and I will never sleep again.
Be sure to PM about the life coach thing.