I'm relaxing and watching Trigun on Adult Swim on cartoon network, when I hear the snap of the mouse trap from the kitchen.

A traditional, old-fashioned mouse trap. The kind that breaks the mouse's neck and kills it instantly. We set it earlier in the day, after finding rodent poopy. I wait until the next commercial break to go put the dead critter in the trash. Once the obnoxious Adult Swim text bumpers comes on -- "blah blah it's 1am we can say whatever we want cause you'll still come back to see Vash the Stampede in action" -- I head to the kitchen. I'll have just enough time to put the mouse in a Ziploc bag, and into the trash.

Now I've done it before; probably trashed 3-4 mice in my life so far. It's always a little creepy. Mice are so small, they have to be a little cute -- small things are always cute -- but a mouse in a trap has its mouth wide open like a zombie. Their legs are so tiny, I wonder how they can move so fast. And the little body sits there so clean, like it's just sleeping ...

... but what's this? Blood? Never seen that before, in this situation. And it's not just a little blood. Big spots of it. And rays of blood, radiating outward from a scratching, flailing ... oh, gross, it's moving. Twitching. Probably some final reflex left from its recent death. Since the trap killed it. When I heard it go off. About ten minutes ago.

Oh no, it's still alive. I... I don't know what to do. So I stare.

The trap is upside down, and the side of the trap has caught the mouse's face. Rather than break its neck, it has broken the mouse's jaw. I don't look closely, but it seems like the blade is in its mouth, and the upper jaw is in the gap, keeping him pinned on his back. Still flailing. I now realize that the rays of blood were not made by some explosion of blood from when the trap snap shut, but from the panicking and struggling that has occurred during the ten minutes in which I was too busy watching cartoons to put him out of his misery.

And I understand now, that I have to do just that: put it out of its misery. If it doesn't bleed to death, the broken bones will make it unable to eat or move. So I am trying to figure out how to do it quickly, and neatly, and hopefully make it back to watch the rest of Trigun. It's clear that I'm going to return from the commercial break late. (It's an episode I haven't seen! #13, Well OK it's mostly a clip show, but I really want to get back in time to see the clip where Vash saves the day in Hard Puncher. And I definitely can't miss a random appearance by kuronekosama.) But I'm not sure how to do it. (In retrospect, it probably should have involved a large, sharp knife, for humane reasons..) But I decide I will wrap it in plastic bags, and use a very large book.

I get the plastic bags, and open one up. With the other hand, I pick up the trap and dangle it over the bag. This is something I've done before, but the mouse has always been dead, and has never left blood on the bag. As I seal the bag, I think about robots, as I often do. In particular, how could a robot ever mimic the sensitivity of the human finger? Even more specific, how would a robot notice that the surface of the bag, as it is being sealed, is a little more slippery than it should normally be? I didn't notice any blood there, so it must have been something else, I tell myself. I seal that plastic bag in another one. It's still twitching.

Back in the TV room, I see the commercial break ending. I scramble around the kitchen looking for the giant box of trash bags; one of the bulk boxes from BJ's. (Am I panicked because I'm missing my anime, or because I have to kill a stupid mouse?) Finding the big old box, I put the mouse entombed in plastic bags -- still struggling with its upper jawbone being crushed in the trap -- in a trash bag, and notice Vash facing down a baddie with a rocket fist. I put the trash bag in another one, and put it down on the tile.

This is it ... gotta do this now ... I wonder for a moment where I'll find a large book.

Then I grab the bulk box of trash bags and slam it weakly onto the body bag. And again. A few more times, with feeling, until I hear a squeak. I dump the whole thing in the trash without another look, and head back to see Vash sprinting in bullet time. (It is another moment before I realize that the squeak came from the metal on the trap, and hope that the first hit did the job.)

Someone will probably get miffed that I post this at all. (c.f. Everyone has a dead bird story) Others may get annoyed that it's posted as October 3, when it was late night October 2. To both, I can only say, it's six hours later, and I still haven't slept.

I've been keeping a journal in my college prep english course. Of course, this journal mostly ended up turning into a lot of random thoughts that I've had in the course of the previous evening. However, E2 has counselled me to Node Your Homework, and that is what I shall do.

Without further ado, or doo doo, here's todays entry:
Women and the English language are a deadly combination. Women have learned that many words in the English language come complete with multiple meanings, which can be further twisted into other, more sinister woman-only meanings, all for the purpose of confusing men, and causing them mental harm. What women need to learn is that men are really easily confused, and that all this effort is unnecessary. In fact, often, women try so hard in their efforts to confuse a man, that the moment simply blows right past the man and he doesn’t realize something important has happened, thereby forcing the woman to use the “You-should-know-what’s-wrong” ploy, as deadly a weapon as any they carry. I entreat women everywhere to be nice to us guys. We’re obviously the mental underlings here. Pretty much everything we say can either be taken at face value, or as a very shallow and uncomplicated lie. Don’t try so hard. We’re already lost.

Warning: This is a segway. (I know that's spelled wrong - this was done intentionally to make the following pun work:) And not the little scooter thing.

My little sister who was, at the time, in 3rd grade already had a crush on a boy. This wasn’t grossly surprising. What was surprising was when I learned that there were 3rd grade boys who like 3rd grade girls. This is completely unnatural. Any 3rd grade boy should be completely certain that girls are completely infested with cooties – dirty nasty things. I know I was. In third grade I had no desire to even touch or be touched by a girl, and would go so far as to pass cooties to my friends whenever one brushed by me, or something, simply to avoid the terrible contamination of cooties. This is perhaps why I am single to this day, though a lot of my friend’s did the same thing, and one kid I went to 3rd grade with is getting married in a year. I don’t know if I ever want to get married.... that’s a lot of cooties.

It's October again. Time for trouble.

Every year, this month seems to be my worst, despite it being the month I was born. For five straight years now, I've had relationship trouble with the same girl. We've been together almost the whole time; it's been a hell of a trip for both of us. We got back together again (for good, I hope) in January of 2003, and we've been building the foundations of a future together since then. Majority of the problems have been based off of me going through life, making personal discoveries and learning about what I wanted. It's a shame I take so long to learn things sometimes, because the poor girl's heart and mind suffered at my will, and I do regret many of the things I've said and done to her.

However, for the most part, our relationship has been amazing, but to be honest, this has been the single most difficult, trying thing I have ever done in my life. College, jobs, decathalons...they're all infinitely easier, and more predictable. Relationships are like (insert metaphorical comparison here). That's what I feel like pretty much all the time.

For nine months, it has been progressing, although some parts were quite rough. Finding out she was with other guys when we were apart, catching her lying to me a lot more than she ever has, dealing with the fact that I love her so much that I start to smother her...it's not easy to troubleshoot something when you're a part of the problem. I'm learning so much about who she is, why she loves me, and why I adore this person so much.

She's changed in ways I couldn't have forseen. Our love is growing up finally, though we are definitely experiencing some growing pains, because for someone who doesn't cry much, she's made me shed a lot of tears. She's defensive now, secretive sometimes, and very wary. I guess I can't blame her; I mean I started the whole system of doubt in her mind and her heart. It's my fault, and I'm admitting it to the collective minds who live vicariously through daylogs.

I just want to make it through an October without a problem. If she would just put down those walls, and remember why I'm here, and why I have stayed long enough to go through with so much pain and suffering. If she could be open, honest, and forgiving, and realize that the pain is over, and that there is no more separation, just us, warm and in love and comfortable with it, finally.

I'm giving her every opportunity, and she says she's there completely, but I don't believe it just yet. When I feel the love I felt before I decided to be a fool, I will know that there is no more fear, no more worries, and we can finally move in a direction that we both want to go together: the future. She's all I really need, and for the first time in my life, I know and believe that she is all I'll ever want in life.

I'm a romantic at heart, so love comes forth from me like a hurricane: strong gusts, so strong they'll carry you away, until the eye of my stormy heart passes overhead, and you look up and see nothing but calm, pure beauty. The tempest outside rages on, but deep in the middle of me I keep her safe, on the ground with her chin up. Love is my life, and I love my life because of her.

I'm lucky to be able to write this. I'm lucky to have her to love, and to have her love given to me.

It is not so much that you took the newsletter that I worked on for days and threw it away – that is a small thing.

And it is not that one of you ran over my cat. But it is that you ran over my cat and did not bother to stop, tell me and apologize. Ditto for my dog you ran over years ago.

It’s not that all of you who witnessed the car accident where a woman drove into my lane didn’t bother to stop and be witnesses. Maybe it isn’t even that the woman lied and said that *I* went into her lane. It most certainly is that the man in her car who was wearing an “I heart Jesus” neckband lied.

It’s not that so many merchants and carpenters and plumbers and electricians have charged me double what it should have cost. What is money?

It’s the sum of it all. It is the overwhelming evidence that not only is the vast majority of you untrustworthy; you have proven yourselves to be wholly unworthy.

It’s that the unkindness that person A does to person B today, person B will do to person C tomorrow, person C will do it to person D the next day, and this is the degenerate state to which our society has fallen.

It is that my attempting to do the right thing has set an example for no one. It is that my words are powerless to change you.

And so today the only thing I have left to say is “Fuck You All.”

Sadly, I know that I will try again tomorrow to be kind... and most likely get kicked and taken advantage of and lied to for it.

And I can’t stop trying.

(It's a rant -just let me rant for a little while - I need to rant tonight)

Today I realised something that, while obvious, had never really been clear to me.

That is how large the world is. Not the Earth, but the world. All the people, all the cultures, music, books, movies, clothes, teeth. All the plants, fruits, animals, rocks, dust, clouds. The sheer massiveness and complexity of it is incredible.

It's amazing.

Thank you.

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