(no subject)

Okay. I've written three versions of this post, now, let me see if I can do this correctly, because I don't have a whole lot of clue how to have this discussion with the internet, but I'm trying.

( We need to talk about boundaries. )

Uh, as a postscript, bear in mind that I am exhausted and one tightly strung nerve right now. If any of the above sounds a little insane, it's because I'm a little insane. It'll be better soon, I think.

(no subject)

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie,
O what a panic's in thy breastie!

Translation: I have a mouse.

He's really a very handsome little fellow, all over grey and rather circumspect; it took ten minutes of standing still in the kitchen to actually catch a good look at him. He lives behind the counter where I keep the toaster oven and tea. He hasn't bothered the tea, which is considerate of him, but I can't forgive the italian bread and he looked like he was eyeballing my Clif bars. Clif bars are now stashed in the fridge.

I've named him Lorenzo.

Anyway, tomorrow I call Crazy Awesome Irish Super, who will undoubtedly scold me on the state of my kitchen and probably show up wild-eyed with mousetraps tomorrow night. I would pull my kitchen apart and clean it top to bottom but as my living room is in complete disarray I've nowhere to put everything.

As Lorenzo seems to have declared the kitchen his domain and I've yet to hear skittering in other parts of the house, for now I'll leave him be. Tomorrow, though, war shall be declared. Sorry, Lorenzo. I don't know how you got here and I know you think you've got an awesome gig, but you know what Burns said.

The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley.