Day 5
At some point Gene Wilder died.
I stayed home from work today because I lost my voice.
I have considered several times that the weight in my chest might mean that I will join Isis soon. I am mostly ok with this concept- although I am still frightened by the idea that there is no further existence. I suppose I am less frightened by that option than the idea that we might all be stuck doing these things repeatedly on the time loop that is existence.
I will live and die the same way I have always lived an died. The original engraving of the world is so far gone that there is no hope to change subsequent impressions.
Now that the kitten is here there are small pieces of litter all over my bed. I am trying to sweep regularly to keep the appearance of normalcy that my best friend helped me to cultivate in preparation of the cats' move. I wanted to greet them with a clean home. A fresh start.
Going to my ex's house is somber now. The environment is so quiet. There are little pieces that need to be swept up to remove the last traces of us there. I found her panda and the low boil of emotions spilled over, hissing on the heated coils. I will wash it and put it next to her urn in a cabinet I have to open often, but that is out of the kitten's reach. In coming up with this plan I realized I was not as healed as I had hoped. I am not quite ready to see the new shape of her old body. Telling myself that this is not something I can change is not comforting. It just salts the wound by reminding me of my helplessness- my inability to control the world around me at all times. Maybe I could have extended her life, but that's not an option now, and there's no reason to continue considering things that can't be done.
We did take her to the vet a few years ago when she first developed her cough. They told us that she might have allergies, gave her a shot, and said that if that did not help it might be something worse. If it were something worse we would not have been able to rectify that. Neither of us could afford surgery for her. Luckily, the coughing did stop for a while, so we assumed from then forward that she just had allergies.
She jumped out of a window once.
That had to have shortened her life a bit.
It was shortly after we took her in. She went into heat, and spring at that time was really warm, so we had a window open to let air in. We were on the second story so I didn't think that she would be stupid enough to try to jump down to get the sex she was yowling for the night before. I woke up to find I was wrong. I suppose I should have known then that Isis would spend her life toying with my emotions. I was beside myself, and my ex eventually went downstairs to see if he could find her wandering around. When he brought her back inside he said she was waiting for him at the stairs and seemed somewhat sad. She walked around normally but never jumped as high again.
She was also a stray for at least a year. Maybe two if she wasn't the kitten we first saw together. Statistically stray cats live much shorter lives than those that are kept inside.
So it was probably her time. It was probably not something that could have been prevented. I have to convince myself of this truth. I have to convince myself that it's okay for things to get easier as time passes.
I also have to start living better. I was a stray once. And I can feel my life tightening around me.
Sober September starts tomorrow.
I stayed home from work today because I lost my voice.
I have considered several times that the weight in my chest might mean that I will join Isis soon. I am mostly ok with this concept- although I am still frightened by the idea that there is no further existence. I suppose I am less frightened by that option than the idea that we might all be stuck doing these things repeatedly on the time loop that is existence.
I will live and die the same way I have always lived an died. The original engraving of the world is so far gone that there is no hope to change subsequent impressions.
Now that the kitten is here there are small pieces of litter all over my bed. I am trying to sweep regularly to keep the appearance of normalcy that my best friend helped me to cultivate in preparation of the cats' move. I wanted to greet them with a clean home. A fresh start.
Going to my ex's house is somber now. The environment is so quiet. There are little pieces that need to be swept up to remove the last traces of us there. I found her panda and the low boil of emotions spilled over, hissing on the heated coils. I will wash it and put it next to her urn in a cabinet I have to open often, but that is out of the kitten's reach. In coming up with this plan I realized I was not as healed as I had hoped. I am not quite ready to see the new shape of her old body. Telling myself that this is not something I can change is not comforting. It just salts the wound by reminding me of my helplessness- my inability to control the world around me at all times. Maybe I could have extended her life, but that's not an option now, and there's no reason to continue considering things that can't be done.
We did take her to the vet a few years ago when she first developed her cough. They told us that she might have allergies, gave her a shot, and said that if that did not help it might be something worse. If it were something worse we would not have been able to rectify that. Neither of us could afford surgery for her. Luckily, the coughing did stop for a while, so we assumed from then forward that she just had allergies.
She jumped out of a window once.
That had to have shortened her life a bit.
It was shortly after we took her in. She went into heat, and spring at that time was really warm, so we had a window open to let air in. We were on the second story so I didn't think that she would be stupid enough to try to jump down to get the sex she was yowling for the night before. I woke up to find I was wrong. I suppose I should have known then that Isis would spend her life toying with my emotions. I was beside myself, and my ex eventually went downstairs to see if he could find her wandering around. When he brought her back inside he said she was waiting for him at the stairs and seemed somewhat sad. She walked around normally but never jumped as high again.
She was also a stray for at least a year. Maybe two if she wasn't the kitten we first saw together. Statistically stray cats live much shorter lives than those that are kept inside.
So it was probably her time. It was probably not something that could have been prevented. I have to convince myself of this truth. I have to convince myself that it's okay for things to get easier as time passes.
I also have to start living better. I was a stray once. And I can feel my life tightening around me.
Sober September starts tomorrow.
Comments
Post a Comment