Um. Ew.
Want to feel something =really= gross?
Nope, grosser than that. Oh, definitely worse than that, too.
I swear my mind just won't stop replaying this over and over. With sound effects.
Wondering if I'll ever get around to saying what this is all about? I'm getting there, getting there. It's just one of those things you have to work up to.
Okay, here it is, the recipe for for supreme mental ickyness:
Have one cat that is an extremely talented mouser.
Have a nest of mice under the kitchen cupboards.
Go in your bathroom in the middle of the night, making sure not many lights are on, concentrating your mind fully on what lies ahead.
Have your extremely talented kitty bring you a freshly-caught mouse, and place it directly outside the bathroom door as a present for you.
Walk out of the lit bathroom into the darkened hallway, stepping directly on the [hopefully, desperately hopefully] dead mouse with =just= the right amount of force to feel, through your heel, the lungs and bladder of the mouse =pop.=
No, not feel bones break. Feel the actual lungs and bladder - and possibly other organs - pop like a balloon.
You will be amazed how, at completely random and unexpected moments for the entire rest of the night, while you're, say, watching a movie, reading a book, making chain-maille, whatever - your mind will suddenly announce inside your own head: "Hey, remember =this= sensation? Whee! Gotcha again!" Quite possibly accompanied by maniacal, cackling mad-scientist-type laughing, if your mind is adept at that sort of thing.
One supremely amazing thing is just =how= =many= different activities, feelings, thoughts, etc. can be co-opted and re-directed toward this sort of guerilla memory-attack. I never knew Harry Potter, polymer clay, rice, sleeping dogs, grey carpet, laundry baskets - full or empty, clean or dirty laundry - a wrinkled piece of paper, a hangnail, blue-striped sheets, a tiny smudge of dirt on my index finger of my left hand, or a pool cue could =instantly= be associated with dead mice with exploded lungs. Fascinating, in a way.
It's like people who, having shaken hands with some celebrity idol they're gaga for, swear they'll never wash their hand again. Only really different. I think it will not matter how many times I wash my foot, or walk on any other surface for the rest of my life - my right heel will forever remember that sensation.
What's really annoying? Somehow, my right heel is attempting to teach my =left= heel exactly how it felt, so it, too, can revel in the ability to slap me with that oh-so-lovely memory.
Think I'll go wash my feet again.
Nope, grosser than that. Oh, definitely worse than that, too.
I swear my mind just won't stop replaying this over and over. With sound effects.
Wondering if I'll ever get around to saying what this is all about? I'm getting there, getting there. It's just one of those things you have to work up to.
Okay, here it is, the recipe for for supreme mental ickyness:
Have one cat that is an extremely talented mouser.
Have a nest of mice under the kitchen cupboards.
Go in your bathroom in the middle of the night, making sure not many lights are on, concentrating your mind fully on what lies ahead.
Have your extremely talented kitty bring you a freshly-caught mouse, and place it directly outside the bathroom door as a present for you.
Walk out of the lit bathroom into the darkened hallway, stepping directly on the [hopefully, desperately hopefully] dead mouse with =just= the right amount of force to feel, through your heel, the lungs and bladder of the mouse =pop.=
No, not feel bones break. Feel the actual lungs and bladder - and possibly other organs - pop like a balloon.
You will be amazed how, at completely random and unexpected moments for the entire rest of the night, while you're, say, watching a movie, reading a book, making chain-maille, whatever - your mind will suddenly announce inside your own head: "Hey, remember =this= sensation? Whee! Gotcha again!" Quite possibly accompanied by maniacal, cackling mad-scientist-type laughing, if your mind is adept at that sort of thing.
One supremely amazing thing is just =how= =many= different activities, feelings, thoughts, etc. can be co-opted and re-directed toward this sort of guerilla memory-attack. I never knew Harry Potter, polymer clay, rice, sleeping dogs, grey carpet, laundry baskets - full or empty, clean or dirty laundry - a wrinkled piece of paper, a hangnail, blue-striped sheets, a tiny smudge of dirt on my index finger of my left hand, or a pool cue could =instantly= be associated with dead mice with exploded lungs. Fascinating, in a way.
It's like people who, having shaken hands with some celebrity idol they're gaga for, swear they'll never wash their hand again. Only really different. I think it will not matter how many times I wash my foot, or walk on any other surface for the rest of my life - my right heel will forever remember that sensation.
What's really annoying? Somehow, my right heel is attempting to teach my =left= heel exactly how it felt, so it, too, can revel in the ability to slap me with that oh-so-lovely memory.
Think I'll go wash my feet again.