i know i complain about gamin a lot, or at least make many disparaging remarks about his penchant for biting me in the wee hours of the morning and leaving the bloody remains of small fragile creatures on my bedroom floor, and so i feel a need to state this fact: if i didn’t have the cat living here with me, i think i would have gone quite crazy by now. just having him squawk his horrid meow at me every couple of minutes goes a long way in keeping me grounded and distracted from otherwise overwhelming melancholy.
it’s saturday night, i’m listening to the national (band, not news show) and rearranging my bedroom. yesterday i broke my beautiful red teapot, and the impact of losing this favourite object suddenly just hit me.
as much as i’d never wish it wholeheartedly, some part of me wants to go back to where i was, who i was, when i bought it. 2 years and 5 months ago, to the day. yes. fuckin’ hell.
***(two hours later)***
i just spent 38 minutes and 42 seconds on the phone with my kid sister, and i feel a million times better than i did when i wrote the above. oh, except for the fact that she told me our dad’s cat has gone missing… that’s really shitty, especially since it’s been cold and snowy out east, where they live. still, i’m hopeful.
also, no longer desiring regression.