charlie caught his third mouse yesterday. there was a brief scramble in the kitchen, then he came bolting into the living room. i didn’t even have to see him to know he’d caught something.

between the first noise in the kitchen, and my grabbing charlie and his dropping the mouse, maybe five seconds went by. if that. i snatched it up off the floor, but it’s little back was broken. a little drop of bright red blood was starting to trickle from it’s mouth, and its tiny body heaved twice. it died in my hand.

poor charlie was searching frantically for his lost prize. i stood and watched him, holding the mouse, and all of a sudden i felt so lost. my brain didn’t seem to be able to handle feeling proud of my three legged predator, and guilt for having taken away his catch, and upset at the limp little corpse i was holding, all at the same time.

i froze. i didn’t know what to do with the body. i didn’t think i could bear listening to charlie eat it, or cleaning up after him afterwards if he got sick. but i didn’t want to throw it away. it wasn’t garbage. it was a living thing, up until a few seconds ago. its eyes were still bright, shiny black beads. so i just stood.

i held onto it until the last of its tiny amount of body heat had warmed my icy hands, and then i slid it inside an empty toilet paper roll. i put the toilet paper roll in an empty chinese food container, and then i walked away.

all of my issues with death and dying, they are brought to my attention in everyday life. roadkill, birds hitting windows, drowning puppies, cholera epidemics, obituaries, murder/suicides… and insignificant little mice in the palm of my hand. i am surrounded, and i just don’t understand.

i think i may be coming close to officially outgrowing mister noodles.

i feel sick. and crave carbs.

while clipping the papers this morning, i found out from james that the house of commons passed a motion that stated that maclean’s magazine’s october fourth issue was to be removed from shelves due to its “offensive” cover.

it honestly is too early for this, so i’m not gonna get into the nitty gritty of this story. if you wanna read bout it, you can READ ABOUT IT HERE. but i am gonna voice my two cents.

the house of commons is going to prohibit vendors from distributing a factually acurate article about political corruption, because they find the image of a snowman mascot with a briefcase of money offensive? what is going on here?? when i say that we are standing at the top of a hill gazing down at a very slippery slope, and that allowing for this kind of precedent is a hop, skip and a few critical missteps away from a very unpleasnt future, i don’t have to refer to some fictional orwellian regime; there are more than a few from both the past and the present that demonstrate it quite nicely.

didn’t the nazi’s burn books? why, yes, i do believe they did.

i never used to lock my doors. like, any of them. when we lived in gatineau, the doors to our house were perennially unlocked. in a house with one bathroom shared between four family members, occupying the shower didn’t really give you the right to occupy the whole bathroom.

that habit even carried over into my current residence. i live in an apartment building, and once i was past those flimsy glass doors i felt safe. i never locked the door when i was at home.

well, i do now. a few things have happened to me during my lifetime that have eroded my sense of security. the most recent was no one’s fault, but it still sucked. i was peeing one day (bear with me, it’s relevant) and i heard my neighbour directly above me fall down in the shower. hard. now, my dad is a safety freak, and the horror stories he’s told me about all kinds of household accidents caused that sound to make my blood run cold. i thought to myself, this person could have knocked themselves out, they could be bleeding, drowning, dying of a concussion. the rational part of me told me everything was fine. the callous part of me told me it was not my problem. the socially conscious part of me told me not to stick my nose in other people’s business. but the worrying part of me, the part that reminds me of how guilty i’d feel if something bad did happen, and i’d done nothing to help, won. i went upstairs and knocked.

long story short, a man eventually came to the door. he was so drunk he could barely stand. when i explained that i had heard the person living above me fall down, and that i was just making sure that everyone was safe, he told me that he had been sleeping, that there was no one else in the apartment, but that it was very sweet that i cared. most people wouldn’t have bothered to check, he said. most people don’t care.

after some apologies on my part for the “false alarm” (that sound was unmistakeable, directly above me, and he was very, very drunk) we said our goodbyes and i wandered back to my apartment. a few minutes later, there was a knock at my door, and again i found myself talking to this very tall, very broad looking man. he tells me he just wanted to stop by on the way out to breakfast, to thank me again for caring. i say it was no problem, and we exchange a couple more pleasantries before he took off.

a couple of days later i came home to this:

now, this man means me no harm. he’s just trying to be friendly. he likes me, or something. but he drinks, and is over a foot taller than i. and not only does he know where i live, but he feels comfortable stopping by my door. i live alone, with the most pathetic guard animals possible: a three legged, chicken-shit cat, and an ornery turtle that’s trapped in a glass box in the corner… woo. so, i have started locking my door when i am at home, and checking and double checking that i didn’t forget.

but here’s the thing: i have nightmares. in one of these nightmares i wake up to find a bunch of teenagers that have gotten into my apartment. knowing that i lock the door, even while i’m at home now, i yell at them and ask how they got in? i find out that they were previous tenants, and got illegal, unregistered duplicates of the key made, so that they could get in any time after they moved out. that even if i get their copy of the key, they have four or five more. and that’s just for this group of people, who knows how many more groups did the same thing? my apartment is about as impenetrable as a wall of sponge cake.

but it’s just a bad dream, right? sure, mostly. but there’s certainly a message coming from my subconscious, that i’m hearing (and feeling) pretty clearly:

once your walls have been breached, there’s no going back. repair them all you want; they will always be cracked, and threaten to crumble when you need them most. and no amount of locking your doors, or closing your curtains, will ever make you feel truly safe again.

it’s late and i should be heading to bed. instead i got sucked into watching xfactor auditions on youtube. all of these people, singing poorly and singing beautifully, but regardless having the courage to stand up and let their voices’ be heard.

my dad wants me to take singing lessons, and a huge chunk of me is really excited about it. but there’s a nagging little whisper inside of me that i can’t seem to quiet.

it says that i am hollow inside. that, while i recognize talent, be it musical, lyrical, athletic or artistic, i have none. no voice with which to sing, and no imagination with which to create. it says that i am empty, and on my bad days i believe it.

i am looking forward to singing lessons.

so much to DO!

i ask myself over and over, “why are you doing this to yourself?”

but i know the answer. it’s because i deserve it.

glass in my foot for the second time in four days or so.

despite the adderall, my brain is all over the place. can’t read, can write, can’t think. bad things, good things, hope and frustration; everything is spinning.

life can’t be summed up in a couple of clever phrases. there’s no golden rule to obey, and make your life simpler, happier, easier, better. life is so complex, there are so many variables that sometimes they seem infinite. but that’s what makes life interesting.

sophie, stop trying to console yourself by saying you’ll figure it out. you won’t. but that’s ok; you can still laugh, and eat, and hug your cat. you can still live.