I don't like drama. I really don't. Can't ever seem to avoid it completely, though, can we?
Certain environments seem to draw it out, like there's some kind of attractant sealed in the walls. Call in the warehouse agents and have this building swept for artifacts, because this here is not normal. (Anyone have Gelsey Kirkland's pointe shoes bronzed on the wall, maybe?)
My lap is cold.
There is way too much room on the bed.
My socks are exactly where I left them this morning.
No one met me at the kitchen door tonight when I came home.
And no one woke me up at four a.m. with a paw on my face.
And I miss you.
There are few things in this world that helped me to feel better at the end of long day than pulling you into my arms, buried my nose in your fur, and listening to you purr.
I will miss our friendship.
Love you.
I've had to do this a couple of times, and I hate it.
And I'm pondering through the tears that I'm crying over my cat's body why it is that I've had blood relatives, with whom I've shared genes and Thanksgivings, whose deaths have affected me less than this little mammal that I'm handing over to the vet now, and is that right or is that wrong?
Or is it just what it is?
And all I can do is hope through the tears that my kid won't ask how kitty died because I've already resolved not to lie to him but I don't want to tell him mommy paid the vet to do it.
Home from work. Started dinner. Finished the dishes. Picked up the living room.
6:30.
Plied some singles. Changed the cat box. Cleaned the kitchen. Changed everybody's sheets. Loaded up the dishwasher. And the washing machine.
7:30.
Looked at the homework. Bathed the kid. Read the bedtime stories. Happily ever after. Wiped down the bathroom. Knit a bit of scarf. A bit more of sweater.
8:30.
Huh.
And so I'm back from outerspace from Disneyland.
The kid's first trip was awesome. He did Space Mountain right out of the gate (and by his own insistence, I might add). When he got off he was cool, collected, and a little wobbly. He said it was a little scary on the fast part and he didn't need to do that again. "Maybe when I'm six."
Fair enough.
Buzz Lightyear's Astroblasters was probably the biggest hit, everything involving 3D glasses was very cool, and the Haunted Mansion was proclaimed not scary at all.
Do we all know Zeno's Dichotomy Paradox? That you can never to get from Point A to Point B because first you have to get halfway there? And before you can get to the halfway point, you have to get to the point that's halfway to the halfway point. And before you get there... You see where I'm going with this? Or not going? The idea is that because you can chop up any length into an infinite number of halves, the distance is, in a sense, infinite and therefore unachievable.
On my way home from work I popped into the comic book store. I headed over to the Dark Horse rack to see if there was anything new in any of my favorites. (Of course I knew there wasn't; I'm on three different mailing lists that would have alerted me if a new Umbrella Academy was on the way, but a girl can dream.)
I am currently reading a new book by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, more often known as The Yarn Harlot. I’m a big fan of Ms. Pearl-McPhee. Her book Knitting Rules is in the top five on my list of best knitting books I own. She taught me the essence of a sock, not how to make one, but how it’s made.
I wasn't going to blog about SOPA and PIPA. There's been so much talk about this going around. Plus I sort of figured that you're all smart internet-savvy folk and you know what's up.
A lot of blue skies around here. Bluer than they ought to be.
Not all my readers are from California so let me explain. It doesn't rain here in the summer. Really. You know those picture books we all had when we were kids? Wind-blown leaves for fall, snow for winter, rain for spring, and sun for summer? Those are about California. I was nearly grown when I found out there is actually a thing called a summer rain storm in other places. With thunder even. Weird.
