(Cross-posted at F-16's Don't Kill People, 500 Lb. Bombs Kill People)
After the mouse episode in the crawl space, I held my breath and opened another seldom-used closet. Though not quite as bad (probably due to a lack of food) they did manage to completely destroy a few items of clothing. I know they climb, but it seems so strange that a mouse would want to climb up a dress, a suit and a fragile antique lace blouse, to nibble gigantic holes. It actually looks more shredded. Gosh, I'm heartsick over this.
Over the years, I've really all but stopped buying clothes figuring what I had would last a lifetime (…and it would have, blah, blah). Only today, as I realised the jacket I was wearing had (numerous) moths holes, did it dawn on me that I've become old. Too old to see properly to put on makeup (and yes, I forgo blush lest I sport the typical old lady unblended line straight up the cheekbones…if I had cheekbones) haven't had a professional haircut in over five years, shoes have holes, can't see well enough to tweeze those few hairs that have decided to sprout on my chin (yes, really. Just wait till your estrogen ups and leaves) and so on. I don't know, in the back of my mind, I figured I at least had a few nice items to wear, should I ever need to do more than clean piss up off the floor, or pick up groceries at No Frills. Seeing the destruction made me terribly sad-silly as it sounds (and it is actually being kind of silly) those clothes were the last nice things I'll ever own. I know that. Even if we could afford to replace them, I wouldn't. Ideologically, it no longer fits in my life-I couldn't very well go indulge in expensive clothing when I know people who are eating from dumpsters. Odds are, I wouldn't have ever worn most of these things again because I'd be embarrassed that they seem ostentatious. Sooner or later, I'd have given them away-seems a shame that the mice should get them first though.
This came on a day when I was already feeling pretty lousy, physically (which is of course, a great time to go clean a closet, eh?). Regular readers will attest-I am not even close to being thin-skinned. I routinely dish it out, and in return, do a fairly good job of taking it. I don't take Internet things personally; because they are not personal-even less so when I have to take crap from total strangers. That said, and again-I think this just fits into a very long couple of weeks and being a bit run-down, I just about put my fist through the computer this afternoon.
I made the unbearably stupid mistake of commenting on something in our inane newspaper. The story was about a traffic accident that resulted in a fatality. I noted that I frequently pass the area and it is indeed dangerous, and advised people should be cautious there. The story was shortly thereafter updated to indicate more details, and it turns out the accident was about a mile down the same road. Oh my God! There was a factual error in my comment. Slap me upside the head and call me moron, I will have zero credibility from now on. This lead to (weirdly) someone else posting to correct me (in MY name) and another poster all but calling me an idiot for not reading the article.
I'm furious that I'm furious over a fucktard comment from someone I don't even know. Believe me, this stuff never so much as irritates me in passing. Today, it did (for like, fifteen seconds-but still, I'm pissed that he/she got even that much of a rise out of me). So yes, I'll learn how to read a newspaper, and while I'm at it, I'll write to the University that had the poor judgment to issue me not one, but two degrees. Maybe they'll permit me to sell them back-I could use the money.
I'll tell you this, I'm afraid to open any more closets. I need to go upstairs and unpack my winter clothes, which are in sealed plastic tubs. If I find those gnawed and pried open, I'm moving back to Boston, where the rats stick to eating garbage.
Quick, someone please tell a joke or something in the comments thread before the mood around here gets too self-pitying.