November30
So, I just deleted one of those “I’m in a funk and can’t figure out because life is pretty sweet and these small things shouldn’t add up to a hill of beans let alone a personality disorder” posts.
You know you need to shut the fuck up when you can’t stand to finish writing a sentence for yourself.
But, it’s also true. I’m going through a rough patch. Not surprisingly, in winter. Not surprisingly, during the holidays that we’ve decided we won’t really be celebrating.
I used to blame bad history for these blues. Then I blamed Seasonal Affective Disorder. Then I thought maybe I am just one fucked up person.
I haven’t ruled that last one out.
November18
A few years ago I realized that I was growing up because I felt comfortable in my skin.
Now, I know I am a grown up because I am comfortable being uncomfortable in my skin.
November10
I think we all know what it means when I actually get around to posting a picture, don’t we?
After many vet visits, four different meds twice a day, sub-Q fluids every other day, twice daily soakings of a leg that had swollen from blockage, Roark passed away during the night on Friday 11/7.
We’d finally taken to locking him in our bedroom so he could have access to food 24/7 without the other cats eating it. Tom had brought him into bed and he was curled up on my side when I came in. Roark moved down the foot of the bed but did not jump off as usual when he felt there wasn’t enough comforter to go around.
Tom woke first and I noticed Roark was at my feet, but it wasn’t until Tom came back to administer the morning soaking that we realized he was gone.
I have no other words. I got Roark and Frisco at 6 weeks of age my sophomore year in college, fourteen years ago. I always said that when they went, I would be need to be medicated. I am numb and at a loss. I am just thankful that Roark left us on his own terms, in his sleep.