Dreams…

I was asked something tonight.

I was asked what I dreamed of doing. No one has ever asked me that before. It was such an unexpected question that I had to think about it for a while. What have always dreamed of?

Do I want to learn foreign languages? Hell no. Living in Canada, I should know French, and that’s never going to happen. Do I want to climb Mount Everest? Never wanted to, especially now that earthquakes are an option. Do I want to become famous? Not really… as an Introvert with a capital I, the idea of fame scares the shit out of me.

Do I want to be a soapstone artist full-time? I don’t know. There are a lot of days that I look at a stone and just see a stone. It’s a lot of pressure to be inspired all the time. And to try to carve when you’re not inspired leads to sub-standard (in my humble opinion) results. Other people might think the carving is nice, I probably won’t.

What do I really want? I want to do historical research. I want someone to give me a topic, send me to a library and yell GO! I want to immerse myself in my historical geekiness. I want to find out fabulous things about days gone by and tie them together into a fabulous tale. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t mind having my name associated with something as “Historical Researcher” but I would add the word extraordinaire.

I guess that’s it. I don’t want a lot of out of life. This would be enough.

The mice that brought darkness to a small town…

There I was… happily working on assignments, with mind-numbing television, and a lovely electric fire for ambiance. Without warning, darkness descended. Damned ghosts, I thought (no pun intended).

I trundled downstairs, into the cavernous 130 year old basement to check out the electrical panel. Flicking breakers at random resulted in one room after another being rendered without power. “What is this mysteriousness*?” I wondered. As any modern social media addict will do, I ranted on Facebook. Within minutes, my phone rang. I answered, and the calling party hung up. Not too creepy, as I’m lighting candles all over my living room. The phone rings again. “Hello?” I answer, hesitantly. “Hi, it’s ____. Turn all your breakers off and get out of the house, now.”

Well that’s a fine how-do-you-do.

After being convinced that if I stayed in my house I would die a fiery death, I made a few more phone calls. Being a holiday, the thought of the cost of a 24-electrician was frightening. Enter awesome neighbhourhood friend. After dismantling the electrical panel, this was discovered….10300980_10152636860976568_2321431037697625543_n

Food on one side, bedding on the other. Mice. Turns out the little buggers had been piddling all over my breakers for years. Ermiony (please see previous posts) managed to deplete my mouse population, but not soon enough. And, clearly, my six cats are seriously slacking. Everything was corroded, and every time I flicked a breaker off an then on again, I was breaking them. Everything dangerous and broken were shut off until further repair and I settled into a weekend of semi-darkness.

As has already established in previous posts, my favourite hobby lately is napping. Having the stress of school, and potential house explosions and/or fires, you can imagine how much I slept when I finally crashed. When I awoke the next day (no need to name a time, that’s just embarrassing) I discovered that I had cut power to houses within a 10 km radius. For four hours! It had to have been me. There’s no other explanation.

Turns out it was a coincidence… or so they tell me…

*Insert multiple swear words in place of mysteriousness…