My cat is dying. My sweet, affectionate, lovable, precious, seventeen-year-old, atypical cat… Her name is Hershey and she has been with me basically my entire adult life… all the way back to when life was as expected.
I’m thirty-nine years old and have no children of the human variety. Hershey is my baby. She was here when I was young and thin and carefree… working my first real job after graduating from college. She was here through a divorce, multiple moves, the entire lifespan of my beloved Jack Russell, Jake and what was, in hindsight, a scary bout with depression. Continue reading My Cat Is Dying →
This weekend was a perfect example of why I try to keep myself immersed in work. Time on my hands means far too much time to think; too much time to think makes me:
I don’t want to be nice to people. I don’t want to help anyone out. I just want someone to take care of me.
Ambling around in a world of identical people,
my search had always been for someone who was not.
The roar of heartbeats and breath and meaningless conversation
drowned out anything of significance — until I found you.
Your words were rations for my starving heart.
The mob lost its power as we danced among them, finally within reach.
I held onto you a like a girl-child in a field of daisies… spinning around,
faster and faster until I could feel it happening but I couldn’t stop it.
I can’t recall if you let me go or I you but I do remember with perfect clarity
exactly how it felt when your fingertips slipped from mine.
I called out for you but the noise only grew stronger until you couldn’t hear.
And the crowd seeped in between us and once again I was lost.
… learning to dance in the rain
damaged calm 