Would you stay if she promised you heaven?

Cerri says:

"Rainbow mosaic flower vases, dream catchers, coffee in a variety of strength and taste, and red. That is my day."

Red was a big theme. At the hospital it was the Physiotherapists blouse. In the car it was the colour I felt most, being rage, and maybe even out-of-control like a bull who charges at a waving red cloth, even though we all know it's not the colour but the waving which attracts the bulls attention. It was the colour on the take away bag that the shop assistant gave me to store the flowers in because the stems were poking through the plastic bag and, therefore, dripping water on the cafe floor, therefore spiraling me even further own Alice's rabbit hole of chaotic disaster. Red is the colour of a ball of wool sitting on my over-cluttered desk, a collection of random books covers mixed in with a suitcase full of books I lugged to my car and piled neatly on the seat as a means of storage, and the little light on my bar heater that I am using to dry my only comfortable pair of work pants so I can wear them tomorrow. And lastly, it is the colour theme of Youtube, which is trying it's hardest to calm my horrified soul at the destruction and positively traumatic state of my bedroom as I try to get about six months of mouse stuff out of it.

Six months.

I'll just let that sink in.

Yes, it is rather terrifying, isn't it? It does induce a rising feeling akin to that of a total meltdown frenzy, doesn't it? 

Not only did I find a layer of mouse droppings under my bookshelf- because these days furniture is built with that thin space at the bottom, FOR GOD KNOWS WHAT PURPOSE, and it's designed in such a way that the space faces the wall so insects and rodents can build an entire ecosystem and live in it for about, oh I don't know, eternity- I also found droppings under another cupboard with the exact same space setup, and am only just finding out this very minute that my wardrobe has an EVEN BIGGER SPACE under it where MULTIPLE MICE have pretty much fouled up the entire unit from underneath, middle, to top.

I won't even mention the smell I noticed upon breaking some wood off the bottom of my wardrobe so I could peek in. 

Not even going to mention the state of the carpet under there. Or basically the entire carpet of my entire room.

Red is the colour of a mild heart attack.

So I have a mouse invasion! Pretty neat! Amazingly adventurous! I can and will totally kick this mouse or mice family back out into the wild where it/they belong and completely cleanse my room in some sort of wiccan/witchy/spiritual/smudgey sage stick way, but also with lots of action, possible tears, loss of sweat, and a massive dose of blaringly-loud Talking Head songs on repeat.

The Plan

1. Knock down the wardrobe, store clothes on a temporary clothes rack thing, clean and vacuum under wardrobe. Try to block this event from my memory.

2. Get copper wool, or something like dish steel wool stuff, and plug the hole- YES! A HOLE! RIGHT IN THE CORNER OF MY ROOM FOR EVERY MOUSE AND MOUSE FRIEND AND OTHER FURRY TYPE FRIEND TO JUST COME WALTZING IN FROM AND SET UP SHOP WITHOUT PAYING RENT AND WITH THE AUDACITY TO EAT ALL THE MIDDLES OUT OF MY CUPCAKE PATTIES. 

3. Set up a good few mouse traps with mouse-appetising foods like twisties, peanut butter and chocolate.

4. Shop around, find wardrobe with either no bottom space or really tall legs, buy wardrobe, lug wardrobe home, set up, take nap, wake and admire said wardrobe.

- Chuck out all of my clothes

- Buy all new clothes

- Chuck out all my furniture except the table my dad made

- Buy ALL NEW furniture: two large bookcases in white, one bedside table with drawers in white, one cabinet with drawers devoted ENTIRELY to lady undergarments 

- Roll around in all this money I have somehow acquired

- Cry into a mug of hot cocoa with melting marshmallows because I really liked all my odd furniture, it had memories, and I'm a sensitive, sentimental soul who collects things upon a whim, and I really, really, don't like slimy melting marshmallows in my drink and why does life have to be so unfair

 Other Things I Did Today That Pale In Comparison To My Mouse Drama (In order of appearance)

*Wobbled as I knelt down to pick up a spilled container of butter portions at work and had to steady myself. (THIS IS IMPORTANT FOR LATER)

*Noticed that there was a GIGANTIC SPIDER ON THE FLOOR WHERE I WAS WORKING

-WHERE I HAD JUST WOBBLED

--JUST SITTING THERE WITH A BENT LEG

---IT COULD POSSIBLY BE BROKEN

----WHY, I COULD HAVE BROKEN IT... WHEN I WOBBLED AND SAT CASUALLY BUT QUICKLY ONTO THE GROUND

----- I.... COULD.... HAVE.... SAT.... ON.... A.... SPIDER.... 

*Rang up a lady in a different area to come and deal with it for me. ^__^

*Bought two coffees from a vending machine. Now this is where I absolutely draw the line. FIRSTLY, they had no lids. So there I was, holding a bunch of flowers between my arm and side while holding two open, hot, dangerously close to the top coffees, and I had to keep stopping to inch my fingers up the cup to that millimeter or so of free space (and here we have another object with a space issue, one I prepared earlier, cleverly put together, affordable, pleasing to the eye, but it's just missing that something... 3/10!!).

SECONDLY, after making my way down the long, winding hallways at a snails pace in an awkward crab-like position, I decided to sip my coffee so as to reduce the amount of awkwardness I was giving off in general, and that was a mistake.

Vending machine coffee is the worst. I don't understand how it can be so bad when it's literally just Nescafe blend. What is Nescafe putting in their vending machine blend? What are they even doing? How are they living their lives?

So I ditched those cups asap and legged it to a freshly brewed cafe where I paid for two decent coffees and one custard tart that I knocked on the ground before being able to eat, and let me tell you. That first sip was heaven. Not entirely as heavenly as my Peterbae's smell, and not quite as heavenly as realising you don't have to wake up and go to work the next day, but close enough.

Plus it was rainy, cloudy, and cold outside, and that just makes really great coffee and sitting in a chair all the better.

*Does anyone else think they see something move out of the corner of their eye all the time lately? Or is it just me? 

*Meal-prepped like a boss. Nine meals consisting of brown rice, broccoli, carrot, potato, sweet potato and pumpkin are all ready to go or freeze. Add chicken or chickpea, onion and garlic mix as you like.

* Turned my laptop off and on because, once again, my mouse-pad glitches and stops working, thus freezing the whole computer.

Cerri says:

"I feel like spontaneously combusting, but I think I can hold it in for another day. By doing small things that matter, such as a load of washing, a load of dishes, and moving a pile of stuff out of my room to make space (once again: more is less!) every day, I can gradually chip away at this massively, hideously, outrageously too big task looming before me and complete it with ease and without losing my mind."

*(^_^)* 

Could I possibly trouble you for seconds?

Vincent had a tried and true method of staying on the broom whilst riding.
His method was glue.
"You d- you glu- you WHAT?!" spluttered Tarot.
Vincent winced, tried to turn around and look at the perfectly straight, perfectly polished, and expertly-tied broomstick, but hit a lamp post with the end, winced again, and frowned at a sloppily painted frog ornament sitting against the fence.
"WHY WOULD YOU DO SUCH A THING?" Tarot howled and stamped. "AM I JUST A PRETTY FACE? DOES MY EXTREME GROOMING AND ENTIRE COLLECTION OF CELION DION IGNITE A DESPERATE URGE FOR YOU TO PROVE YOURSELF TO ME?"
"I beg yours," Vincent straightened, winced as the end of the broomstick attached to his bottom hit the ground, and fixed this 'Tarot' with his almighty glare. "I have no such urges, as you say. I am a happily married man-"
Tarot stamped his dainty, rather shiny, boot once again. His face had turned an unhealthy shade of red that, paired with his unnaturally orange hair and orange-red clothes, made him look like the beginning of a rainbow. "MY BROOMSTICK IS SPLINTERING ON YOUR VERY BACKSIDE, NAY, THE VERY FABRIC OF YOUR BACKSIDE! I DEMAND ANSWERS! I DEMAND THIS HOLE IN MY SHOE TO BE FIXED! I DEMAND SOLACE FROM YOU AND YOUR ASTONISHING LARGE BODY!"
"Yeah alright, alright!" Vincent called over the top of him. He'd been turning and straightening for a good few minutes and non of it had gotten him anywhere. If anything, Vincent felt that his movements had caused the broom to splinter further into his behind and he was not ready for such intrusion.
"You talk back to me!" Tarot breathed furiously. "To ME?!"
"Keep it all on the table for a minute!" Vincent said loudly, with agitation and dismissal that could not be ignored. He was preparing himself mentally and physically to do something he had hoped never in his life to ever have to do.
Tarot saw this facial expression, this stance, this sudden change in demeanor. "No!" he gasped. "You wouldn't dare!"
Vincent snickered. He should never have dared get on this broom in the first place. Flying at top speed as high up as the sun was an excellent idea unless you were afraid of heights, which Vincent was. Not only was he morbidly obese, he was also morbidly afraid of riding in an airplane, looking out of a two story window, watching the numbers in an elevator increase, the thought of chimneys, daydreaming or overhearing a conversation about hot air balloons, and seeing crickets up close.
"I told you to slow down up there!" Vincent yelled in a careful and very still manner.
"Broomsticks have only one speed," Tarot said pompously.
"I was leaning so far back I saw the ring of Saturn!"
Tarot gingerly rubbed his sides. "Don't remind me."
"And all the stops!" Vincent swept his arm wide as if gesturing to a jumbled collection of tangible stops. "Who has time for all that landing and taking off? I was forced to fasten myself! In any way I could!"
"I am an errand boy!" Tarot yelled. "I run the errands and I only, ONLY, polish with Traxwax twice a day as it says upon the packaging!"
"Well!" Vincent hissed with a gleam in his eye. "WAX THIS!"
"OH WAIT!" Tarot stepped forwards with his arms up just as Vincent bent down with a rumble of a cry, reached between his legs, grabbed the broom end (which, Vincent had to admit, was extremely polished, so polished that he was firstly: afraid his hands would slide off, and secondly: reminded of his bald Uncle Barnaby who was in desperate need of a good polishing product) and pulled as hard as his jiggly arms would allow.
"PERSEPINE!"
Vincent howled in pain. In one surprisingly swift motion, the broom, his trousers, his underpants, and a small portion of his skin all went hurtling up into the air.
"Flumpering lumberjacks!" Vincent squealed. He slowly reached around and touched the patch of raw skin. "Quick!" he called out to Tarot. "Do a healing spell!"
Tarot, in a motion not unlike that of a movie villain, casually flung his hand out to the side, almost without thinking, and caught his falling, splintered, now-bent broom. "May the wrath of a thousand tiny flea-infested ants roam your body and leave you with no peace until your parting day on this earth. And what of healing ointments you must surely try? They will fail! THEY ALL WILL FAIL YOU!"
Vincent blinked in rapid succession. "That's a funny sounding healing spell."
Tarot looked as if he would snap like an overly-tall, overly-autumn, severely orange twig. His hands clenched in rage and his whole body shook with what could have been a silent curse of intent or an extreme urge to line dance, but was most likely just a fit of intense rage towards this man who had half his bum showing in public.
"DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I HAVE NURTURED THIS FINE SPECIMEN OF WOOD?!" Tarot shouted.
"Well, err, I would guess-"
"LONGER THAN YOU HAVE EVER SPENT SITTING ON A TOILET! OR PRUNING YOUR CACTUS! OR TAKING PART IN ALL THE OTHER IMPOSSIBLE THINGS YOU DO AT FOUR FIFTY-EIGHT IN THE AM YOU ALTERNATIVE TANDY BARN OWL!"
"Pruning my-?"
Tarot raised his arms, his eyes wide, his hair flying about his head, for some reason, as if an invisible hair dryer was blowing in his face, and he opened his mouth.
Vincent cringed into himself with his hands still covering his bottom. He was sure that Tarot would spout a curse so horrible it would be like the time Vincent had to spend the summer with his Aunt Millistein in the town of Harrowsbay Shore. The entire occasion had been spent either eating boiled cabbage with cashew nuts in, or playing backgammon on a board made from an old man's termite-ridden kitchen cabinet door, and every morning Vincent would come downstairs to find disturbingly large holes chewed out where his own checkers had been.
"WHAT ARE YOU DILL BATONS DOING DOWN THERE?"
The high-pitched shrill of a woman tore Vincent out of his disturbing memory. He opened one eye. Had Tarot's curse somehow backfired and turned him into a female? Come to think of it, Vincent hadn't heard Tarot say anything at all. Maybe he was one of those accomplished lot who could do magic in their heads. Yes, that was it.
Tarot was frowning up at a woman leaning out of a fourth story window.
"AS IS YOUR ORDER, YOUNG MAIDEN FROM THE EAST-" he called up to her while performing an elaborate bow, but she cut him off.
"Oh you're so old fashioned you make my glass slippers cry!" the woman snorted and waved the drink she was holding precariously over her window ledge. "Go read a book! But before you do that, come in and watch me charm my squash tree."

*

      6^^^^6
v<(* ___*)>v
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