Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

As I'm writing this, I'm sitting on my couch. My leg muscles actually ache because I'm clenching them so tight. I decided to do this blog post in hopes that it would distract me. And it didn't involve moving. 





There's a mouse in my house.

So I know we all have irrational fears. It's a thing. 

But oh my God a mouse. 

I'm alone, the roomie's out. I called the parents and was advised to put out mousetraps. 

I don't ever, ever, ever anticipate seeing a mouse, so why would I have mousetraps?!?!?!?!?! Sorry, that's the terror talking. 

A short time ago (okay, fine, I haven't moved an inch in half an hour), I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye. Running. Across. My. Floor. From the living room. Into the kitchen.

Where did it come from? Where did it go? (PEOPLE - this is no time for "Cotton Eyed Joe" jokes!) 

It went somewhere. Perhaps under the fridge. Doesn't it know there's no food in there? If it wants sprite or Chobani, fine, otherwise it's going to be mad. Then who knows what will happen. Gah! 

I am 27 years old but I've called my mommy twice already. Apparently one cannot provide a mousetrap over the phone. I now know this. 

I haven't eaten dinner. I'm hungry. I really have to pee. But guess what - there's no way in all of Hades that I'm moving off of this futon of safety. 

Sigh.... 

This is NOT a drill, people! Assume the crouch position! 

When I was little I thought I'd marry a man named Eric...

… yes of course that comes from my obsession with the “Little Mermaid.” I'm sure that it subconsciously factored into my years of red hair too. But alas, so far no Eric.

Without dragging up the gory details, because, frankly, I'm done with them, my life changed last week. 

We broke up. I broke down. I cried. But I'm not crying now. I feel good. 

The people in my life who care about me, like, actually care about me, told me I was better off. I believe them. I agree with them. I wasn't treated well. I deserve better. I'll find better.

But until that happens, I've decided to focus on me. I've signed up for a class that I want to take. I'm buying the food I want to buy. I'm watching the TV I want to watch. By the way, check out “Orange is the New Black.” You won't regret it.

I'm also thinking a lot about my future. What I want from a partner. When I find someone to share my life, I've got criteria. I need to be respected, loved, liked because of the things I like. The Muppets, nerdy movies, books, wearing my hair in a comfortable topnot and the mint green bunny sweater I bought because it made me happy. And it's adorable. Duh.

Through any life change, good or bad, I turn to music. The stages of adaptation are met with certain songs that help us move along, deal with issues, get over a bad day, celebrate a good day, hell, do the dishes. So here is the journey my mind took this last week.

Also, if anyone knows of an Eric, help a sister out...

"Breakin' Up" by Rilo Kiley

"Smarter" by Eisley

"Goodbye, Goodbye" by Tegan and Sara 

"99 Problems" by Jay-Z. Of course. 

And now: 

 

"Moving Right Along" by my beloved Muppets

Quiet Time

I'm sitting here. On my couch (read: futon). Watching an intellectual documentary (read: Kardashians). Bettering myself as a person (read: doing my nails - you know what this is). I'm alone. The man is out. The roommate is out. It's kinda weird.

Honestly I hate alone time. I don't know what do to, there's no one to talk to which means I have to talk to myself because, naturally, I can't not talk.

I know plenty of people who love having some peace and quiet. I envy that because it seems really nice. I would love to curl up with a book and a blanket, passing an evening with my cats or something. But I have the attention span of a three-year-old and a nasty kitty allergy. So what am I to do?

Having lived alone for more than a year and now cohabitating, I absolutely dread having the house to myself. There are so many possibilities, so many options... and there's the interwebs, where I usually end up, creating outfits I don't have on Pinterest and reading about the crafty DIYers I'll never compare to. But is that so bad? Sometimes it's nice to turn your mind off, right?

Personally I chalk a lot of my restlessness during what should be my time of rest and relaxation to my age. I don't have homework and haven't for years, of course. Not at the homeowner stage yet (and likely to never get there. Let's face it, I'm broke), I find there's only so much to clean, only so much to organize, and, frankly, I hate doing both of those things.

So help me out – what does everybody else do on those quiet nights at home? Pjs and a movie? Polishing off “War and Peace?” Seriously, why is it so hard to find a hobby? 

See? I wasn't kidding about that. It's bad. 

  

But I want to!

My significant other and I are both journalists. That means we're really in-tune with observing emotions and are aces when it comes to open communication. Right? Nah.

Today I tried something new. Mountain biking. He thought I didn't want to. I did. He was happily surprised. It was great. I got muddy. Like, really muddy. Now we have a new “couple hobby.”

It's strange how perceptions are often – okay almost always – so wrong. I like being in the woods, I like getting covered in dirt on very rare occasion. In the end he was very proud of my awesome biking skills too. Seriously, I was pretty surprised.

And that's the other thing – I was terrified of trying it at first. It seems like such a “dude” sport. I like to throw around a ball or stretch my body in seemingly unimaginable ways, but the idea of hurdling around trees on a hunk of metal didn't seem like the greatest of ideas. Hearing the man talk of bumps and bruises, branches and bugs (there were a TON of those. Ick) didn't help either. I was really unsure. I'm admittedly quite chick-y, so there's that, and wasn't sure how my bosses would respond to me trying to type with a broken arm. But all was well, I stuck to the easy trails, a great decision because, you know, the whole broken arm thing.

It was fun. I'm glad I tried something new and that he wanted me to. Opening the door to even tiny things like this can be a great couple accomplishment.

Safety first kids