You'll smack your knee at this one. I ask for a way to relieve stress and I find it in killing mice. Mice. Plentiful, bountiful amounts of mice that inhabit our pantry. Mice that my dog can catch. Mice that Charlie can catch. But more importantly, mice that I can catch that have been eating and messing up our pantry for a while now. Even after washing my hands, or dusting off my clothes, I can feel the mice relatives staring me down, crawling on my back, gnawing through my skin and crawling under my flesh. Even after sanitizing my fingers of rabies, dirt, and mouse blood I find I can't even touch my face without feeling infected.
Infected is what I am, infected my hands will stay until the spree is over, and I can concentrate on once again building my life up, over, organized, under, and where ever need be.
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