Sundays in love

Today I:

• closed my videoblog.
• bought fresh squeezed orange juice, bulk oatmeal, spinach, cheese, apples, stump can of ginger ale, and the February zine from Obsessive Consumption.
• watched Crooklyn.
• blushed. (It takes a lot to make that happen.)
• took Emergen-C to ward off a sore throat.
• received video transmission from my good friend Leslie.
• wore women’s boxer briefs and a Joy T-Shirt (both highly recommended).
• figured out the source of the jangling noise near the back of my car.
• slept late and was almost late for an introductory cat sitting appointment.
• subsequently met and fell in love with Sam and Abner, my feline charges for later this week.
• worked on my 2008 AMC session proposal.
• baked chocolate cupcakes and made messy vanilla frosting.
• danced in the kitchen.
• read Stuff White People Like and laughed.
• accomplished almost nothing on my actual to-do list.
• took a drive after 1am to look at our city. We ended up at the reflecting pool.
• cried.

Two weeks ago, our cat Cloe passed away very suddenly. It doesn’t seem right to call her just mine. She loved her daddy, and he loved her inexplicably in return. I still cry everyday, and I don’t know when it will end. Her untimely departure was preventable, misdiagnosed by our vet. She is the second kid I’ve lost in as many years, though that feels somewhat irrelevant. She was my best pal and everything I could want in a furry friend: huge and warm, loud and friendly, lover of laps and sleeping on heads or right in between us, under the blankets. She was beautiful, unusually patient, calm, and calming; and could occasionally be found lying in the empty bathtub. I still don’t sleep well and don’t know what to do with most of her things. I feel nauseous and not nearly as angry as I could be. I get restless often and am going to acupuncture once a week to relieve internalized stress, to clear my sinuses and nourish my lungs, which are associated with grief.

I’ve said it before, but I really don’t write blog posts except to remember, to document. This kind of pain is very hard for me to share, and I’ve been my fair share of reclusive lately. But it seems uncivilized to not write about losing my best friend. Sometimes there’s just only so much to say beyond the confines of late night conversations, staring at religious buildings and water.