Mouse Trap

This weekend I was sitting in my living room minding Antonio Banderas' beautiful ass, when I thought I heard a mouse. The scratches were loud and intimidating like an animal scratching through a cardboard box, slowly but with purpose.

A mouse may seem like a small thing to most people, but to me it's a rodent, cousin to the rat, and running around my kitchen it's a problem!

 I grabbed my phone and ran for the stairs, sitting high enough to feel safe I scrolled through the contacts on my call-at-anytime-for-anything list. While my fingers hovered over the names, and my breath slowed down, I was surprised to feel suddenly alone. My list had dwindled from call-at- anytime to who-wouldn't-be-with-their-husbands, and that number was now officially zero.

It was strange to feel lonely, to have this longing for someone else. I wanted someone to freak out with, to tell me I was being irrational, and then investigate just to be sure.

I've always believed, and recent events aside, that being alone builds character. It can make you braver; it pushes you to be comfortable with yourself, to trust your own judgment. That was the message I gave myself when I decided to move into this house on my own, it felt empowering then, but now not so much.

On a Friday night, while I was watching Antonio Banderas do the tango, people were out there with their person.

Just for a second I was angry, for a second I thought, "why do I always have to be the one in Winnie the Pooh PJ's eating pizza and drinking alone? Why am I always that person?"

I hardened myself against my own questions.  I wasn't going to spend my night trying to look for my own flaws, trying to find out why I didn't fit with anyone, or what it would mean to be 30 something and alone. The world was going to judge me all on its own and somewhere a voice asked me not to.

So I got down from my perch with my big girl panties on, I turned the movie up a little louder, and I poured myself another glass.

I decided to let the mouse hang out for a bit, who knows maybe he was lonely too.