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Thursday Mr. Jenner made the comment, "I feel like Dr. Seuss. For today I dealt with a House, a Spouse, and a Mouse."
WHAT YOU SAY?
We viewed that house. We are signing contracts soon. The landlord said they would clear out the shed, and replace the gas hob. Awesome. I think we may demand they clear out any closets/cupboards as well. We also learned a bit about the estate agency and the reality that one half doesn't talk to the other half. I said to Mr. Jenner, "Oh good. They are like the FBI and the CIA." On Friday our estate agent dropped off the formal letter that is required by law to be given to tenants when they are to quit a property. (ooooh I sound so Jane Austen.) We said thanks, she gave us a bit of information about our new property. Then today we received a letter by registered post from the estate agency which was the EXACT same letter. No one talks to anyone there. If we get another letter I wouldn't blink. I've seen deaf anarchists who had better communication and organizational skills.
I slowly improve. The anxiety levels are a battle. I went for a walk yesterday. I went out and did a few errands today. I was worn out afterwards but I need to keep moving. I want to be able to run sooner rather than later. But my body keeps doing things that make me want to scream because I keep thinking, "chest pains? I am dying. My leg feels wonky? I am dying. My head feels weird? I am dying." I don't even need to google. I just think, "OMGOMGOMG." and really I have to stop and say, "This is the anxiety. Really. It is." Sometimes it helps to walk a bit. Sometimes I have to talk a really hot bath. Like so hot you think I am a lobster. I laid off the valium last night because I really didn't need it, and I don't want it to become a habit. I did take some ibuprofen. Maybe I will stop that too because the creeping side effects are showing up again. So there I am. Back to Tylenol. and chocolate. and tea. and walks. and Mr. Jenner telling me I will be okay. He is also making me take it easy. Which is still hard because I feel like I should be doing something and contributing. I also do things because it is an attempt to distract my brain.
The mouse?
Yes. The mouse. Senor Onion woke up at his usual time and heard a noise in the hall-way. He went out to look and saw (in his words) "a little creature with one of my chocolate coins!" It ran into the bathroom under the tub. AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. He came upstairs and told us what was going on. Mr. Jenner got up and had a look and that fucking mouse had another chocolate coin and was going under the bath. It seems this bastard mouse had been climbing UP all of the stairs to the kids' room where the kids had kept all of their Christmas sweets. The mouse had found the motherlode of stuff, and then was taking it back to its hiding space. We had a look in the bathroom. Under the bath, there was this little hold where the pipes go. OH MOTHERFUCKINGHELLNOOOOOOOOOO.
I don't like mice. I don't even care for pet mice. They gick me out. I am like something out of a loony tunes cartoon when it comes to mice. The lady standing on the table screaming. Mr. Jenner was the best and cleaned up the hidden area in the kids room where the mouse had hung out. We had to toss out all of the Christmas chocolate/sweets. The kids were heart-broken. Thankfully they had other sweets in a cupboard in the kitchen so they weren't completely out of luck. I also bought a few things at the grocery store to make up for this loss. They now keep everything in tins in the kitchen. We haven't spotted the mouse since we closed down their restaurant. We need to get traps to put under the bath. I felt better when my sister in law said that mice in winter are a pretty common thing in the UK. Most people don't realize they have them until the little bastards become brazen about their food shopping.
It tells you something that my kids could bring home a pregnant Irish Wolf hound before they could bring home a pet mouse. *shudders*
I need to find boxes. Does one get them from grocery stores in England? I also need to tell my children that their screaming is going to break their Father in half. The man has worked so hard for the past week, taking care of everything, that he might walk out of the house like Robert Scott.
WHAT YOU SAY?
We viewed that house. We are signing contracts soon. The landlord said they would clear out the shed, and replace the gas hob. Awesome. I think we may demand they clear out any closets/cupboards as well. We also learned a bit about the estate agency and the reality that one half doesn't talk to the other half. I said to Mr. Jenner, "Oh good. They are like the FBI and the CIA." On Friday our estate agent dropped off the formal letter that is required by law to be given to tenants when they are to quit a property. (ooooh I sound so Jane Austen.) We said thanks, she gave us a bit of information about our new property. Then today we received a letter by registered post from the estate agency which was the EXACT same letter. No one talks to anyone there. If we get another letter I wouldn't blink. I've seen deaf anarchists who had better communication and organizational skills.
I slowly improve. The anxiety levels are a battle. I went for a walk yesterday. I went out and did a few errands today. I was worn out afterwards but I need to keep moving. I want to be able to run sooner rather than later. But my body keeps doing things that make me want to scream because I keep thinking, "chest pains? I am dying. My leg feels wonky? I am dying. My head feels weird? I am dying." I don't even need to google. I just think, "OMGOMGOMG." and really I have to stop and say, "This is the anxiety. Really. It is." Sometimes it helps to walk a bit. Sometimes I have to talk a really hot bath. Like so hot you think I am a lobster. I laid off the valium last night because I really didn't need it, and I don't want it to become a habit. I did take some ibuprofen. Maybe I will stop that too because the creeping side effects are showing up again. So there I am. Back to Tylenol. and chocolate. and tea. and walks. and Mr. Jenner telling me I will be okay. He is also making me take it easy. Which is still hard because I feel like I should be doing something and contributing. I also do things because it is an attempt to distract my brain.
The mouse?
Yes. The mouse. Senor Onion woke up at his usual time and heard a noise in the hall-way. He went out to look and saw (in his words) "a little creature with one of my chocolate coins!" It ran into the bathroom under the tub. AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. He came upstairs and told us what was going on. Mr. Jenner got up and had a look and that fucking mouse had another chocolate coin and was going under the bath. It seems this bastard mouse had been climbing UP all of the stairs to the kids' room where the kids had kept all of their Christmas sweets. The mouse had found the motherlode of stuff, and then was taking it back to its hiding space. We had a look in the bathroom. Under the bath, there was this little hold where the pipes go. OH MOTHERFUCKINGHELLNOOOOOOOOOO.
I don't like mice. I don't even care for pet mice. They gick me out. I am like something out of a loony tunes cartoon when it comes to mice. The lady standing on the table screaming. Mr. Jenner was the best and cleaned up the hidden area in the kids room where the mouse had hung out. We had to toss out all of the Christmas chocolate/sweets. The kids were heart-broken. Thankfully they had other sweets in a cupboard in the kitchen so they weren't completely out of luck. I also bought a few things at the grocery store to make up for this loss. They now keep everything in tins in the kitchen. We haven't spotted the mouse since we closed down their restaurant. We need to get traps to put under the bath. I felt better when my sister in law said that mice in winter are a pretty common thing in the UK. Most people don't realize they have them until the little bastards become brazen about their food shopping.
It tells you something that my kids could bring home a pregnant Irish Wolf hound before they could bring home a pet mouse. *shudders*
I need to find boxes. Does one get them from grocery stores in England? I also need to tell my children that their screaming is going to break their Father in half. The man has worked so hard for the past week, taking care of everything, that he might walk out of the house like Robert Scott.
