"The Hug"

It was such an expensive night. The stars were diamonds, brilliant among my comprehension and for it to be in the city, full of smog and bad energy it was almost unheard of but here, they were present. The moon itself had shaped in a crescent, some what of a lunar beauty that with it's opulence, colors hinting at gray/yellow it felt like a perfect Autumn night. Breeze swept by playing with my hair, heat prickling at my skin reminding me that it was still summer and yet my attention was muted to these natural delights. I was caught up in the business of the event. Working steadily to make room in the cooler, prepare the register, get chairs and tables out, cones to regulate parking, get the signs for the bar, light the candles and all without a fervent team or even a present one for that matter; everything weighted on my shoulders. People were arriving and to no avail, things were not finish, it was less than impressive. Ruining my favorite sandals, running to and fro, all in the light of surely making a mockery of myself becoming the butt to all jokes. It was a disaster, I was a disaster. Anger welled up in me but unable to show it as the party goers were indelibly watching my every move awaiting me to announce dinner. I could not let my true feelings be shown.

But somehow, he knew.

Asking if I needed any help - serving and putting a hand in where he could but not too much to be in the way or overstep his footing. Careful but watchful. Noticing what I could not show. I paid no mind to his movements, seeing how he would inch closer as I ran making sure that the generator had not blown again. The responsibility of the night had exacerbated my fuel. Approaching empty and nearing mental and physical melt down - he grabbed me. In front of anyone close by. He took me, without pause, in my mid-motion to the door handle. Guided my arms swiftly over his shoulders allowing my hands to meet each other at his nape. Not realizing that his arms, strong and unyielding were at my waist and back, fingers spread, holding my body still and as my reflex reaction, I fought to be uncomfortable. He breathed. I exhaled with him, relaxed, my breast pressed against his frame, breathing together, I was nowhere. I could smell his cologne, his stubble pricking at my face gave proof that I was not dreaming. In my stupor and with only a bit of myself to cling to, he whispered for my ears only, "I know you needed this." How did he know? I mean, anyone knew I was stressed but why did he care? I resovled quickly not wanting to take this moment for granted. I didn't care. I shook my head in my head and decided to forget to analyze. I laid my head on his shoulder and became glutton, using all my senses to take in what only lasted a few seconds. The release was painful. I did not yet ask to be free of this moment. As quickly as it came...it was gone. And that damn door handle lay waiting there for me to open it. I turned it in agony, I felt my limbs protest to the actions my mind was telling them to create. Crossing the threshold, I stood there hoping to remember why I was even coming inside, I stood there holding myself trying not to fall apart. I stood there, trying to measure my feelings, I stood there grasping at comprehension, I stood there - my sister's voice slowly creeping into my ears. "Here's the spoon you wanted." Oh yea, the spoon. That's what I came in for.....

I am harping on a soul that is claimed by another.

mixing and melting, meshing into a space that has no room for me.

simple in ways that may complicate others,

can't shake a feeling bound by imagination

tossing in covers looped in music,

everything feels like a trip made possible by acid and rainbow colored walls,

im now lost in the image of making starkissed love to a love belonging to another.

A flower already picked and dying for another.

Untitled

It's been a month
and the sound of your voice is an echo,
toneless-without distinction.
I am forgetting you
like shadows forget their purpose at sunsets.
This is the time you waited for
while squandering seconds, hours and days owed in moments where
only you and I existed.


It's been three months
and the feel of your hands are feather like tickles teasing me of
invisible, intangible intimacy.
I am forgetting you
like birds forget their nest once they've learned to fly.
This is what you wanted for
my eyes to elate at the absence of you
when I'd rather be blind.



It's been six months
and the look from your eyes are faded opals that are
egg shelled and empty.
I am forgetting you
like liars forget truths when caught in compromising positions.
This is what you needed for
tears to balance on the ledge of lids
awaiting a return that was never planned.


It's been ten months now and five minutes since I started this poem
and I've forgotten why I was writing.

This is what you wanted, right?
An early onset of Alzheimer's? Amnesia of the heart if you will....

To forget you through silence, disappearance of your smile, lack of embrace and moist lips.
To be missing you only due to cowardice, shyness of tongue that wouldn't allow you to speak the words of our- unexpected departure, our one-sided love affair.

Where were you when regret set in?

Was it when you called to see how I was doing a year later and I asked, "Who is this again?"

Sooooo....you don't want my number? That's what's up.

I was telling my bbf today about something that happened to me earlier this week. Since he refuses to believe what I tell him about the things that happen and why I feel they do as far as dating or getting asked out is concerned. We had an entire conversation via gchat, he said the story was hilarious, so I thought, why not bring it to the masses. Enjoy!


On Wednesday evening, I was invited to go and see The Color Purple at Lincoln Theatre (I know it's at National Theatre, just continue reading). I was able to get two tickets, normally I would take my sister but she had two tickets as well, which meant, we needed dates. I asked one of my guy friends because I am not dating anyone nor do I know anyone who is a prospect that I know would go and enjoy a play. If I brought a female friend and we saw my folks there, later, they would've had something to say about why I couldn't get a date. Thank you to my friend who came out to support. You know who you are.

At any rate, I went to meet my sister at Ben's Next Door, I get off work early enough to sit and chill before the show. I get there before her, she's still at work. When I arrive, I ask that I sit at the bar, no table needed. I didn't plan on eating, just drinking. I've seen this play a million times...I needed to prepare myself. I walk myself to the bar, there is a striking man sitting there. As usual, I don't think much of it. Most of the time, they're married or not interested. I ask if someone is sitting next to him, he says no and moves the chair in order for me to sit. "Thank you." I flag down the waiter and ask for a menu. The guy, let’s call him, Guy, says, "I wish I knew that you needed a menu, I would've given you mine." I smile. "That's nice of you." he extends his hand and introduces himself. (OH Shit! he has manners, he knows how to introduce himself, oh my goodness. This is nice.) I introduce myself and we began chatting.

Now, at this point, I've been reeled in. It is absolutely refreshing to meet a man who knows how simple it is to say hello, introduce himself and proceed with nice conversation. I will admit that I am hoping that some information is exchanged. We sit at the bar drink and laugh and have great conversation. We talk about our careers, he's intrigued that I'm a poet, compliments my voice. I blush. We speak about the government shut down, sports and our interests. I was having a great time. No pressure, we joked about him having something in his nose, we joked about something floating in my drink...very light and fun.


Then wait...damn, I forgot his name. I was taken aback when he introduced himself; I was hypnotized by the smile. What could I do? I almost never remember people’s names. So, I feel bad for not remembering his name. You guys know me though; I'm not the type to continue speaking to someone and not know his name. I ask for it again. He gets upset but jokingly says he's going to tease me about it. Which he did in fact try to do until my sister arrived. She came in and tapped me on the waist to let me know that she was there but she saw me having a nice conversation with an attractive guy, she knew not to block.

"Was that your sister?" "Yep,” she came back because I beckoned her back over, he wanted to meet her. He invited her to sit with us, he introduced himself and I got his name then. He still teased me about not remembering his name. I didn't, I usually don't. It’s a bad habit I have. I need to work on it. But he didn't seem too phased about it. I showed remorse. Plus, we continued to talk and laugh. He still was asking questions about me writing for a new website. He took down the site and said he would read my articles.

Guy gave Courtney, my sister, the seat to the other side of him and scooted over closer to me. I thought, if in fact, he wasn't feeling me any longer because of the name thing, he would've let her sit in between us, right? I don't know! Anyway, my sister gets a drink and I tell the waiter to get the check for my sister and I. It's getting hella late and I don't want to stand my friend up who's probably waiting outside for us. Guy takes the tab, switching my card out for his, as he says, "You've been so cool, the least I could do is buy your drinks." Girl.......I about fainted. I never ever ask a guy to buy me a drink. I kind of have trouble with accepting one. I just feel weird about a stranger spending money on me and he doesn't even know me. I just feel obligated to sit and talk. I'd much rather buy my own drink and dance or some shit.
So....yes, where was I? Girllllll.......I about fainted, not to mention we bank with the same bank! (Am I reading to much into that? Probably. But it was cute) I smiled and thanked him. I get up to leave, I'm stalling, picking up my keys slow, checking my pockets...smh...I know we're going to be late, but I've seen The Color Purple a million times. I want him to ask for my number. Normally....Normally...I will just say, "here's my number." I try not to do that anymore, I don't want to be pushy, if a guy wants to speak later, he will ask for my info or give his. Right? Well....I guess he didn't want to have anything else to do with my ass. We walked out and went to Lincoln, only to find that the play was at National. Thanks mom for giving me the wrong information. We stand there talking for a minute about our next move. Guy walks, if that’s what you call it, can you describe a man’s walk as beautiful? Anyway, on his way out of the restaurant, he taps me and says, "Be cool." WTF!!!

My thought process: Word? Word! Word. Yea...that's what's up.

I must admit, I was angry, maybe I am still a bit angry...fuck it, I'm still angry. This always happens. But Joe Shmoe, some old friend I'm not interested, a greasy ass lamo or an older man and you can mix and match that selection. They have no shame....they will ask for the digits in a heartbeat, wrap you up when they know you're not interested. I don't get it, there must be something wrong with me! My bff says not to think that way and that maybe he was just looking for good conversation, or that he was in a relationship...who knows. Nah....it has to be me. I generally agree with him if this only happened once. However, it is often. Rejected by great prospects and chased by those who are suspect.

In conclusion, this sucks. I'm sure I could've summed this up a bit better but I am getting angry over this shit all over again. Maybe later, I will be happy to have had a nice conversation with Guy. I doubt it. I definitely feel I deserve much more than a damn conversation.

Yea..I'm A Boxer. Well, Sort of....

Hey peeps, so in my efforts to get fit and change my lifestyle...I decided to take up boxing. Why? Its genectic, both parts were boxers...so, I just wanted to share my ummm...experience as a boxer in training. Enjoy!

When I first walked into the gym, I was sooo excited I was nearly jumping off the walls. I bought some red handwraps and Jared, wrapped my hands. We spark up a little conversation, "I'm so excited, I ran a mile before I got here." Jared gave me the side eye and laughed, "oh, yeah...you're really excited." I should've took the hint there and ran for the exit. I wasn't gonna pay him any attention, all he does is wrap hands, whatever.

I got there a bit early so I had a minute to stretch and get my mind into it. I honestly did not know what I was getting myself into. When I spoke with my Daddy earlier...he was just like, "you know, it's a hard workout." I understood but brushed it off with a, I can handle it type attitude. I mean, I've lead rock climbing expeditions, bouldered, trained in a gym, can run 5 miles...although, right now, I am not in the best shape of my life, I still have the determination of star athlete in preparation for the olympics. <---maybe I'm exaggerating a bit but still...I can take it.


What an arrogant, self absorbed ass I turned out to be! I mean really...I had no clue!

Ignorant as to what lay ahead...excitedly, I chose a 150lbs bag, got my gloves on, I was ready for the class. The trainor came in running about 5 minutes late...he hurried up and came to the front of the class. I was thinking okay cool...he was what I was expecting, a fit guy...looks like a boxer, probably a hard trainor but not that pushy, not lietenant drill team difficult...then...this ninja said, "gloves off, 100 jump and jacks." I said...fuck you. (in my head...in my head) The entire class seem to hop right in with just a few who were like me...a little aprehensive. He looked at me, and said, "100 jump-n-jacks, that's how we do. Lets go! Count'em out. ONE, TWO, THREY, FO!" With every synchronized arm leg motion...I wanted call out to Jesus but I couldn't...I was out of breath, didn't want to lose what little I had by shouting.

After the burn from my legs and arms, I was ready to take a break. Nah..."aight, run in place, hands at your guard, high knees." That ain't running! That's like a march run combination...what in the hell did I get myself into. I was ready to cry but I didn't. I got a hold of myself, I figure...if this old white guy next to me could do this, I could. If this fat ass lady could...I HAD to represent for the young adult african american female. Giving up was not an option. So I pushed. Then...push ups. I didn't psyche myself out, although I wanted to ball when he showed us what he expected, and no...there is no such thing as girl pushup. We got in form..."Down!" We had to go down and pump three time, pause mid way, go down again and push back up...that was a count of one. When he saw me stop...he said, "don't fatigue, if you can't go down, stay in your plank." I didn't know which one was worst. Staying in the plank or doing the actual pushups...It was agonizing. Damn, we haven't even gotten to the boxing yet. Was this what he considered a warm up? We still werent done, shit! Next were squats, arm rotations and again with damn jump-n-jacks, only stretching in between and 30sec breaks...timed.

Finally...boxing. This was when everything came together. We did three rounds of just jabs or combinations for those who were a little advanced. Each round was a minute but here's the catch...there were three sets of speed. One was "60sec speed"-slowest but still good pace. "30sec speed"-faster then "15sec speed' which was as fast as you could go. Within each round he would call out a speed and we had to go. That was for three rounds. Then we did another three rounds where he did numbers....he would call out a number and we had to hit the bag that amount of times.."3----2----9---3------9------------2-3-1-1-2-12-14-9. We did that for three rounds. I was really getting into it then...I didn't even realize when the bell sounded. I was tired but ready to hit the bag again. What a stress reliever. Then we did one minute straight of free style, constantly moving, circuling the bag. We had a 2 second rule, you could not be still more than 2 seconds. After those rounds, we did abs; no, its not over yet. Bicycle, neck rotations (don't ask me what muscles are in your neck, hell if I know), legs straight up and toe reaches, turn over...mountain climb. Three sets of that...then, of course, jump-n-jacks and thank God...an hour had elapsed. He gave everyone high fives and encouragement. I didn't want to but I figured it would be unsportsman like conduct.

In the end, after gathering myself. I realized, I actually felt great and accomplished. I'm going to join and keep it up. It's a great stress reliever and it builds my confidence. I definitely recommend this to anyone! Its great. Did I mention that it's great?

I've set goals: to kick ass! Be hot while I'm kicking ass...and health and fitness and all that jazz.

"Hold your guards up...high knees! ONE TWO THREY FO"

War on Mice Sage: Part III

Part III
That fateful night, I decided to declare war on the terrorists that were so happily taking over my home. I was restless. I tossed and turned from fever due to my full blown influenza that felt like a direct result from my boxing classes, fear and stress. My immune system was giving up on me but I had to pull through. I was in a war zone. Sickness is prevalent and expected, as a warrior you look to the goal, you look for the win and nothing else. This is how you survive! So, in turn, I focused my fear and turned it into anger and the ever present driving force of war, ego! My pride could not let this small minuscule speck of nothingness rule my home life creating a hazardous atmosphere preventing me from inviting guess, going into my kitchen or taking the trash out. I had developed OCD as a direct result of my PTS for Christ's sake! My mind was setting in my sleeplessness, tomorrow early in the morning I would wake Courtney and share with her the strategies I'd conspired.

Morning....

My cell phone alarm sounds at 7am on Sunday morning but I'm already dressed in the bed. The comforter flies off as I go to brush my teeth, put my sneakers on and wake up Courtney. Walking down the stairs I prep myself...losing all focus on the fact that I'm sweating and having chills from the influenza that has me in a death grip, I go in Courtney's room. Meekly, "Courtney, you awake?" Courtney takes the cover from over her head and looks at me, "are you seriously fully dressed?" Needless to say, she turned over. "Okay.....well you take five and I'll warm up the car." She mumbled something like crazy and some other obscene words...she think I ain't hear her...I heard her. As lieutenant, yes I ranked myself, you have to take shit and this time would be no different. HOME DEPOT BOUND! (This is the point in the story Courtney is calling me delusional)

I wasn't going to cut any corners or make any mistakes so I went to the Home Depot over there by the Ikea, you know where the white folks shop? I knew they would have everything I needed and maybe some stuff we'd never heard of. Driving, we listened to war songs like Jazmine Sullivan's "Holding you Down" and Rihanna's "Shot A Man Down."

This was it! This is where we bought our weapons of mass destruction, machinery our survival kits. Our training came from hard core encounters with the culprit, we knew what to expect but we still consulted some of the Home Depot experts...giving us pointers on how to attack the situation. We bought glue stick traps to capture, poison for the backyard to keep them at bay, steel wool (I was excited to know that they would chew on this and choke to death) and the secret weapon a bomb. Yes, you read correctly, a bomb. I was a bit nervous about this bomb thing, I must admit but Courtney, also Lieutenant, was gun ho! She was like..."hell yea I wanna buy this! I wanna kill all of the motha fuckers!" This reminded me of that movie, Inglorious Basterds, where Brad Pitt said this exact line but added that he wanted the Nazi's scalps....

I was amped and charged by her forceful and no holds bar tactics. She was the right hand I needed in this time of war. We bought the bomb. Traveling back into battle field was nerve racking but we were ready, we were prepared. With warrior gear on, everything short of black tar smeared across our faces...we were ready. The plan was to set the bomb first. Outside in the front, we tagged teamed, digging a deep enough whole for the bomb. Its was ready, "Okay Court, light the bomb." We were in the dark of the night, wind whipping and lighting this bomb was impossible but dire. Out of the winds direction, I covered with my hands as she lit..."Go, go go go go..drop it" I covered it with dirt and the flower pot. We had five seconds remaining before we inhaled the toxins, running for the door we made it.

I noticed the fumes engorging us inside...I opened the window at the top levels. Quick thinking had saved our lives. As the bomb killed all those who were thinking of infiltrating gave us encouragement, we hit the kitchen next, pulling the refrigerator out, the washer and dryer and the stove, we had to find where they were coming from. But first prayer...Courtney's suggestion. At this point, I had so much hate in my heart for these vermin, it never crossed my mind to pray. Courtney led the prayer, asking God for strength and the ability to overcome our fears. I lusted for revenge.

The prayer circle ended and we went in-- yanking and pulling appliances. My flu was non-existent. Bingo! back behind the fridge and under the back door. That steel wool was a mutha but I had gloves and scissor, vigorously plugging up holes and setting peanut butter induced tramps. Lets see them get in or out alive!

Now the living room, this was a bit more difficult, the last place we saw the enemy. We knew he was hiding somewhere but our strategy was to scare it before it scared us. Spraying down the sofa with Lysol and disinfectant would do the trick. Pulling the sofas apart, no fear...no fear...no fear and moving them out of place...and then the muthfucka rears its ugly head (while your at war you curse a lot). CODE BLUE CODE BLUE...WE'VE GOT ACTION UP UNDER THE CUSHION ON THE FLOOR. One of us has to move it...as lieutenant, I took the lead. poking at the cushions, we don't see it. "we're did it go?!" Behind the love seat! Courtney points, and in sheer amazement...we watch the mouse climb into the corners of wall...I nose dive with my steel wool. Choke on this bitch...

We haven't seen one mouse since.

"I survived because I had no other choice, because my sister was there the whole way (tearing up) going through this with me and because we had the grace of God leading us. That's why I survived."

The END

War on Mice Saga: Part II

The Saga Continues....

Returning to daily life is a bit difficult after coming face to face with your greatest fear. I calmed myself over the past couple of days knowing that the deceased was out and in the garbage. Also, our landlady had the guys come in and mouse proof the home...or did they? Ever since my devastating encounter I've being seeing things, feeling like something is in my peripheral but when I turn to look...nothing. I have PTSD...self diagnosed of course. I mean, I have to make noises before I enter a room to make myself known. Throwing a shoe into the kitchen before entering, kicking the wall several times leaving black smudge marks, or when I had nothing...screaming at the top of my lungs. I just didn't want to see the damn thing.

When the guys came, sure, they bought shit loads of mouse poison and placed a hefty amount, visible to the naked eye in each corner of each room on each floor. Then, went out back and sprinkled some back there. I did not feel very calm. They did not plug up any holes. They did not place any more traps down but they knew what they were doing, right?

I couldn't have been more wrong. After getting home from work and doing my daily ritual that could easily be considered OCD as result of my PTSD I went into the kitchen to throw a piece of trash away. AND YET AGAIN...the corners of my eyes picked up what my brain was too slow to capture. But I let it go, I recognize my mind is playing tricks on me...besides, Courtney agreed that I could just be over reacting, we hadn't seen any in a while.

Secretly, I knew that mouse was in there. I just didn't say anything. I did not want to be one of those people screaming and crying claiming they'd seen a ghost when nothing was there...but then, I had to face the back door again. We had a visitor coming and I wanted to tidy. So, I went to throw the garbage out the back. I was terrified and now sick with the flu. Upon opening the back door...A MOUSE! A MOUSE! A MOUSE! I'd let it in Jesus...a mouse ran inside and I let it in. Crying now...profusely as our visitor arrives. I try and compose myself...I want to get this trash out, I move towards the back door...I start to speak in tongues preparing myself because what I saw next brought me the closest I'd ever come to having a heart attack. The mouse was in the trash can!! I could not control myself. "Listen, I am terrified and there is a mouse in the trash can...can you please take it out." Luckily, he understood. Did I mention he was the ADT guy coming to put in our alarm system in?

Later that day, Amber comes over to hang out and watch television. I missed her. I forgave her for her horrid laughter after my near death experience. I was sick with the flu too...so, if by chance she got it, she deserved it! Anyway, I start to calm a bit more, besides the fact that I am heavily sedated and nestled in my sofa with two pair of pants, two pair of socks, two blankets, a sweatshirt, a scarf and a comforter, I was ready to watch "The Notebook" and cry like a blubbering baby! I couldn't be more happy when Courtney and Amber go to the store to spoil me with snacks of my choosing! Yes! It was on...

The lights are off, except the kitchen of course, television volume is on high and Ryan Gosling is on the screen...yes, I was in heaven. Until Amber with her super night vision..."There it is! There's the mouse." The mouse was in THE LIVING ROOM!!! NO, THIS CANNOT BE!! MY LIVING ROOM...WHERE I LOUNGE! I felt sure I was going to pass out. We turned on the lights to try and scare it. But the lights kept flicking on and off...they wouldn't stay on. AM I IN THE TWILIGHT ZONE...IS SOMEONE PLAYING A MEAN JOKE? PLEASE GOD!! Once the lights were on..the mouse went nowhere. That saying that they are more scared of you then you are of it! hmph...bullshit! This creature wasn't afraid at all. It kept running back and forth on the floor and behind the couch. I felt as if I was in a war zone..without a shield, no guns, no bombs.....nothing....then out of nowhere...Amber yells, "It went into the couch!" Tears welled in my eyes...

The sheer audacity! I now felt like this mouse was mocking me!!! Playing me as if I really were Tom and he was Jerry! Like he'd been Speedy Gonzales in a past life! Well...this is not a cartoon sir this is not a game. This is my life you’re dealing with here, my comfort...this is my home damn it!! And this....this means war!

To be continued....

War On Mice Saga: Part I

Something I wrote to make myself laugh, I hope you enjoy it too. Its three parts...
Peace

As you well know, moving into a house has its advantages and disadvantages. One is that I am finally out of Busy's house and overwhelmingly excited about my new found freedom! Its like I judo-kicked all my walls down and was able to dance freely, specifically on my own floor in my own house with my own things...just picture it...me frolicking about. Sort of like Mary Poppins but without the umbrella, I don't need the bad luck. However, with a house that is not new, in fact, very old but fixed up you may have some problems, granted there were some but none I could see that couldn't be fixed. Like a doorknob or light bulb, you know the simple things.

But then, first week of living there...I felt the walls that I kicked down came tumbling down on me like when Tom & Jerry get the fighting and Tom throw some shit up in the air to land on Jerry...but Jerry's smart ass moves and it all comes tumbling down on Tom...yeah, I'm Tom. So... I walk over to the back door to throw a piece of trash and in the corner of my eye, behind the refridgerator there is a trapped mouse, it's on that sticky mouse trap, sure they were around the house but I thought they were there as precaution not that there were actual mice in the house!

Oh lawd! The terror! It was lifeless on that thing from the split second it took for me to look at it and sprint to the living room, stradle the living room sofa like a trained track star and cry and whimper like a baby. I know what your thinking...its dead, it can't hurt you. Yes, I realize that. But, I am deathly afraid of mice. Sure, I can have a snake around my neck, sit on the head of an alligator, jump off a cliff in Jamaica without a second thought. Its something about those beaty eyes and the sneaky quickness that makes my skin crawl. In desperation, I call my father. "Hey daddy." (In my saddest scared voice.) "Hey Booksie." (Yes, thats my nickname) "Dad...there is a mouse on a sticky trap in here, what do I do? I'm terrified." "Danielle, all you have to do is first, calm down. The damn thing aint gonna hurt you. Its dead. Second, get a plastic bag and get a glove, pick it up..put it in the bag and dump it." "Dad, I don't think I can do it, just looking at makes me cry!" "Well, I hope you don't think Imma drop what I'm doing...just to put a dead mouse in the trash."

And there goes all hope. I have to be brave and fight this thing head on. I decide to be brave and face my fears. I go upstairs, change my clothes throw on some gloves put my hair up, get a plastic bag and proceed to the back door. I want to unlock it so that I can just run out once I've placed the abomination in the plastic coffin.

Jumping up and down..I hype myself up. Scream out a battle cry ARGHHHARHAHRHRH....clap my hands! Breath deep. clap my hands some more. I stand in my livingroom...doing this for about 15 to 20 minutes. I can do this...I can do this as I shake my head opposing the words coming from my mouth. I push my legs to move to the back door. Plastic bag in hand and I open the back door, turn to look at the mouse to pick it up...JESUS CHRIST!!! ITS MOVING! DEAR GOD...I CAN'T DO THIS! I CAN'T DO THIS. Clapping my hands to deter from the mouse's incessant cries, jumping up and down from sheer terror, I run upstairs...

After hyperventalating for 15min in my bedroom. I call my landlord. The guys that are coming to fix the bath tub will be here later. They can pick it up and toss it. I think I'll just stay upstairs til then.

Later on, after the mouse has been thrown out and I am free from terror. Amber calls, "Hey big sis." I can hear the giggles in her voice. "Hey lil girl." "Daddy told me everything...ahahahahahhahahaha." My father can't keep anything to himself. My mom is in the back ground screaming..."stop Amber, stop....I'mma pee on myself."

That is only part one of the war on mice saga. To be continued....