I was really into this guy in 2015 for pretty much the entire year, with spill over into 2016, and he was so hard to read. Hard to figure out. He liked me too, I think. He flew across the country to see me, anyway, and I to see him. But we never made anything official. (Beside the point). – One day, he gave me a nickname. Which made me swoon, because I have a vagina. I’m telling you, girls go apeshit over nicknames or anything that you do for them that you don’t do for other people. Well, girls like me do anyway. He called me Mouse. For months, I ate it up. I couldn’t believe we had a thing. I even bought a sleep shirt that said “I’m a mouse, duh.”
And then, it hit me. As most things usually do, I realized how pathetic I was randomly in the middle of a work day. It was probably a Tuesday – a warm afternoon right in the middle of the week that allows no time for a sufficient break down. I realized in a split second that he was calling me Mouse because he was relating me to the character in that book “If You Give A Mouse A Cookie.” Have you all read that? Not so flattering.
Basically the mouse in this book is never satisfied with what he’s given. He gets a cookie, he wants a glass of milk. If he has milk, he’ll need a bathroom. If he gets a bathroom, he’ll need soap. No, that isn’t the plot, but that’s the idea. No matter what you give the mouse, he always wants something else. Thats a horrible reputation to embody. That’s how he saw me? Demanding? Greedy? Never satisfied? Fuck.
As I sit here on the sofa, I can see snow falling outside though the sliding glass door (it is so beautiful). My cat is curled up next to me, and football is on the TV. Nobody else is around because I live alone. It smells good in the house because I have my Scentsy burning, and I can hear laundry tumbling in the dryer because I have a washer/dryer in my unit. And I have hardwood floors. & a fireplace. At one point in my life, this was my dream. I was 20 years old, and all I wanted was to move to Montana to be with the “love of my life” (eye roll). I used to fantasize about sitting in a little apartment in a state where it snowed, watching it fall outside the window, with a kitten playing on the floor and a boy who comes by sometimes to visit me – and maybe toss me up on the kitchen counter to kiss me hello. And here I am. I’ve got all of it. Yet, is it good enough? I mean, kind of, but now I want a house with a garage so that I can build my own gym. I want my car back. I want to feel healthy every moment of every day. I want to have $10,000 in a savings account.
Why is there always something more? Why is where we are never good enough? We’re never content. I’m tired of it. I’m taking this time to retire from being the Mouse. To stop always needing something more. Don’t get me wrong – having goals is a wonderful thing. I have plenty of them myself. But, I’m going to make being satisfied a priority, too. I’m going to be happy with the things, and moments, and relationships I’ve been dedicated & fortunate enough to make happen for myself so far. For everything I have today. Every spoon in the silverware drawer. Every coffee mug, meal, and cozy blanket. Every visitor. Every gain. Every muscle, freckle & tear.
I guess sometimes when you’re given a cookie, you should just take some time to enjoy it.