Adventures in Self-Loathing: A Nature Special In The Kitchen

Yesterday was not a good day on a lot of levels.

Sometimes I'm stressed but more or less ok: I tell myself that if I fail the bar, I'll just take it again in February and that I will pass and that I'll get a job and I'll be able to pay off my loans and it will all be ok and the world will not end. That's what I tell myself.

But somedays I don't quite buy it, and I get jittery and stressed and so perhaps I need a drink to settle my nerves so I can continue productively studying. Yesterday was one of those days.

EZ was sharing my anxiety, so we decided to have an afternoon cocktail. I proceeded to the bar to retrieve some glasses and said something like "Goodness it's dusty over here. It' s like something died."

EZ, viewing dust as our common enemy, came over to inspect our dust problem, when his face contorted and he said "Something did die."

I took a closer look and -good god- realized that there was a dead mouse nestled in the glassware. EZ had said several weeks ago that he thought he heard skittering, but I told him that a) he was completely paranoid and b) he was imagining things. Guess he gets the last laugh on that one.

But what I love is that even though my mind processed what it was (i.e. a dead mouse) my consciousness didn't allow it to process (i.e. [chuckle] *looks* like something died over here). I guess that's how the Stepford wives do it. But hey, when you're already stressed out to pre-heart attack levels that last thing you need is a dead creature as a momento mori. Would you like a side order of death with your bad day? Apparently so.

Also, dead mousie had been on the bar for a *while* and was at fist only visible as a puff of fur which looked like a ton of dust. But on closer inspection, you can see the little carcas complete with maggots at work (if you click on the picture you can enlarge). It's like having a PBS special on what happens after death going on in the kitchen. EZ and I both wanted to retch as we realized we had been using glasses off the bar for a few days now without having noticed the creature (for the record, we were using smaller glasses from a different section of the bar).

And as bad as seeing the dead creature is, dealing with it is much worse. EZ and I flew into a panic realizing we actually had to deal with this and decided to consult with Tiny, who was upstairs and unaware of the critter. We basically just shouted "Oh my god" and "gross" at each other for about five minutes before trying to come up with a disposal plan.

My first impulse (which I did not share) was to vacuum the damn thing up. But I was afraid that it might clog up the vacuum or, depending on it's stage of decomposition, break up as it was being vacuumed sending maggots everywhere. Either prospect is horrifying so I kept it to myself. Tiny volunteered to dispose of it once provided with gloves and many many plastic bags. EZ, being man of the house, pulled himself together and said he'd do it and before losing his nerve he quickly grabbed a cereal box from the recycling bag and scopped the mess into the trash. Clearly I am worthless as I volunteered to do nothing.