Day 1,568.
She was wrong yet again.
The same friend who told me WEN was not a good product is the same friend who told me that being alone was better – it is not for me. It never has been.
Can I just say, I have no idea why people do drugs? Yuck! The stuff they shoved in my face tonight!
I am not changing anything else. Surely, my work at work is not based on what exit my vehicle takes home, or the side of the garage I park on. Since there is only one side I am able to open my door on. Or, what time clock I use. Or, what bathroom I use. Surely, that cannot be true?!
What a waste.
I am 46 years old, I am more than tired of throwing boxes around all night trying to make a living. I am not a teen-ager, I am not young anymore. I want to look pretty again. I want to be a girl again.
I need another job.
I am trying to understand why this has been done to my body. Why this house was allowed to happen. I am unable to think of any logical reason. Since, there are so many ways they have of being able to control, maneuver, or reach my head I simply cannot believe in it anymore.
If they want me to believe otherwise they are failing to reach me. Failing to communicate. Failing to manage me.
Maurice, my Reetzie, this good and best-behaved boy has discovered something. I had a pet-hair remover from The Container Store days I had not used for a while. I took it out to clean my futon when Maurice discovered the smell of it.
What is this? Wait. Wait, what is this?! Is this a girl?! Is this a girl-cat?! Is this a girl-cat smell?! Wow! Wowee, wow, wow!!
Maurice is shoving his face in this pet-hair remover sponge going out of his mind goofy with happiness…to the moon, happy. I didn’t dare interrupt him. Wow! Wowee!!
I miss my real cats. The cats I had before this house and before they had chips placed in them to respond in a certain way. Thursie used to go to the kitchen sink with me every time. He loved water. He loved watching it trickle out of the faucet. He used to try and play with the water using his paw.
Fri-Fry, my Friday. What a most likeable cat. My neighbor used to stop by just to visit with Friday. It is a most difficult thing to be likeable, to be so likeable. Friday was the cat everyone tried to tell me they could take him home, I said, no. He is my cat. How he loved the sound of his name. How he grieved for Sundae when she had to be out to sleep from cancer. He stopped eating. He would run to eat, eagerly wanting food only to take a few bites and stop. His whole being unable to continue.
Staring, looking out the window with such a stillness. He was inconsolable with grief, inconsolable.
I know a little something of inconsolable grief.
It is such a gross misuse and abuse of power.
I, of course, would rather write about my cats than tell you about my cats, as the people they are, as the great characters they are, it is not the same thing nor is it as creative.
Sitting on the kitchen floor. I am still sitting on the kitchen floor after I had been told in my head while talking to my brother on the phone that my mother had passed that she had been gone for some time.
I am still sitting on the kitchen floor drinking a six-pack trying to understand how and why something like this could happen to me and my mother.
For some time.
I am just sick.
How many more years must I live like this?!
WE - DO NOT AGREE! 