THE RAT. The big ugly one.

I couldn’t tell the tale in a five-minute conversation. Which seems to be all I’ve been having with any given acquaintances or casual friends. I’ll have to write it down instead. To begin, I’ve been deteriorating rapidly in a state of lonely rot lately. Collecting mental bacteria deposited by the house flies of doubt, self-loathing, and emotional decomposition. As you would expect, I’ve been turning into a pile of steaming refuse right here in the middle of my own, otherwise, immaculate home.

Now, with that in mind, it should come to no surprise that eventually a big fucking rat is going to pop in and see what’s cooking. Having been lured into my self deprecation zone by the inviting aroma of burnt, melting, and molding garbage which has become my existence. No, not a real rat. My situation is strictly proverbial, as the people living within my home have had no sense of what is really going on with me. Soon, I fear, that will all change. Because, like I said, this is one big ugly fucking rat.

For now, though, ignorance is bliss. The man staring at his computer screen for hours on end is showered and smells pleasantly like the soap, hair care products, and deodorant they have become accustomed to. He smiles when something should be smiled at, laughs when something is funny, and praises when he is proud. Easy peasy.

They can’t fathom that there is something wrong with him. Even though he has said as much. You can keep aiming a steady stream of hot piss at that shit stain inside the most popular seat in the house, but until you squirt bleach on that sucker and go at it with a bristle brush, that stain is just going to stay put. Someone hand me a bristle brush, please. It’s not their fault. Everyone in the house gets outside nourishment from the world, but my responsibilities keep me wrapped up and at home for the majority of my life. I deal with the day-to-day happenings of four children, maintaining a semblance of a sane appearance while drifting closer and closer to madness with each passing day. And then there’s that fucking rat.

There’s more than one, but it’s that real ugly fat fucker, I’m most concerned with. That’s the one that is screwing with me on a planar level. Not sure if it is male or female, but it is ugly as sin, for sure. Keyword. Couldn’t really say if it brought the other rats along with it, or if the others scoped out the situation and went and told their boss it was time to do this shit. However, the others come and go, adding their two turds on top of the pile and scurrying happily on their way. But the boss one, it seems to have taken up shelter.

I lay traps out every so often, and it stays out of sight for a while, but it lies in waiting. Waiting for me to feel just the tiniest bit of improvement in my outlook on life, before poking its head out of one of its little hidey holes in my psyche, just to remind me how bad I’ve let the trash heap actually get. Reminding me that clean up is going to take a hell of a lot more than a broom and a dust pan; probably a fucking bull-dozer at this point.

It makes me wonder at the length I will have to go when I’m finally ready to rid myself of it, before the goddamn thing manifests itself into my actual reality and my wife sees the fucker for herself. Then again, she’s barely ever home anyway, and I’m certain she’s contributed to some of the more tasty piles of rubbish the rats are attracted to, anyway. Perhaps she won’t be all that surprised when she sees it, after all. I mean … she will. That fucker is huge, ugly, and mean as fuck, but when she gets over the initial shock of it, chances are she’ll finally take a step back, look around, and see my life for what it is. Then she’ll have to admit that it’s not that surprising after all.

Burn it out, beat it out, cut it out, or just drown the whole thing in a tub of hot water. What’s the answer? What’s the solution?



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