Ma Vie, Aujourd’hui!

A Mouse in My House and Fossilized Turds

October 20, 2008

Posted in: Marfa, TX

Mes enfants,

There is a mouse in my house!!! I say this not only because it has an especially sonorous ring, but because, alas, it is la verité. I really don’t know what to do about it. It seems to me the rodent has as much right as I to be here. It doesn’t pay the bills, granted, but what gives me the authority to kick the poor bugger to the curb? It’s frosty out there! Also, I have named it Hitler. Really, I cannot explain away the twistedness of my thought process, but just so you don’t all think I have officially gone off the ledge, round the bend irretrievably, here is how I arrived at the horrid title. I once had a pet mouse named Napoleon. I was young, I don’t know… and she was a girl, to top it all off! Apparently my spastic qualities set in early. Anyway, I therefore thought it would be cute to maintain the tradition and name all my mice after dictators (yes, I am fully aware that this is sounding worse and worse. My brain does weird things sometime, I can’t explain it.) As you can imagine, Hitler was the first name that came to mind. I tried to immediately discard it, but the OCD part of me clung to the name with such might that I had to give in. So now I co-inhabit my home with a mouse named Hitler. Ah, good times!

On the topic of domestic disasters, my dog’s incontinence has returned! Really, if someone could explain to me why I am shat on by the universe daily, I would be much obliged. Here is how I discovered that scintillating little tidbit: there’s a room in my house, a huge room actually, that is permanently vacant. It was formerly my parent’s bedroom, you know, before all marital hell broke loose, and I try never to go in there. It’s eery. But, I had guests over recently, and when I went to go and clean up the room after they’d departed, there it was. This fossilized little shit, staring me in the face!!! Upon further investigation, it was revealed that there were a few more ancient turds. And when I went to pick them up, it became clearer and clearer that these were dinosaur-era specimens…How long has Tchae has been hiding away her poop in that room? And how unsanitary could my friends be not to tell me? I am too distressed to ponder either.

There really was no point to all that. Sorry. But bear with me, kind people. Or peeps, I might say if I were an inner city youth five years ago. Peeps: it tinkles. Really lovely. Why on earth was it banished from popular vernacular? Soon I’ll have more to report than “Tragic Tales of a Festering Home.” Promise!

I must go pass out now.

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