Ok so…I figure I’ve taken enough of a vacation from my writing. The month of October was sickening and strange. I didn’t think I’d have to submit an obit or sit in a pew at my mother’s memorial service for at least another few months maybe. Never, I had hoped, since I was a little girl. I tried to meditate one night when I was maybe 7 and all I could think about was how horrible it’d be when my parents die. I don’t think I slept at all that night and I never did meditate again. You never think about these things until they happen. And then you have to do things like make funeral arrangements and shop for a black dress that you wish you could wear someplace else.
I’m kind of handling things much better than I had anticipated. When I thought about it happening, I thought I might fall on the floor and maybe faint. Maybe I’d sink into a depression and maybe I’d rip at my clothes and want to cut my hair off with some dull blade. You seriously think strange things like this. But no. I did not do any of those things. I was still able to laugh at things and cheer people up. I was able to organize my thoughts and take care of business and cook. I guess my rational side sort of stepped it up. Not to say I didn’t cry my guts out or that I don’t still break down. But I feel like I need to honor my mom by doing what she would want me to do: be strong. And besides that, I feel her around me which I realize sounds corny and super cliché, but it’s the dang old truth.
And so, I’ve decided to pick up the writing which sort of makes me happy and complete and less loserly.
And besides, I need a creative outlet. A low-brow means of communicating the raunchy and crappy things I see or (unfortunately) experience. For example. Today as I was walking down Bush Street, this crazy cat lady passed me by with a veritable stroller full of cat with ribbons and bells ‘round their necks and she actually said, “Fuck you” right in my face. I was way too amused to be mad. Cat people are a crazy ass lot. I love Mr. Kiki Jones with all my heart, but I do not think this love is unhealthy.
My best good pal Jim is a kitty foster mommy these days and I wish she’d rethink this since one of them almost literally killed her. I got to visit the bastard cat when she dragged me to some kitty adoption-a-thon they have at her local pet shop. It was much cuter than I had imagined and slightly less fierce. I guess one day the cat in question was acting kinda funny and smartly, Jim decided to try to pick her up to give her some love. The cat chomped down with all its might and Jimbo thought some antibacterial soap and some sweet TLC would nurse the nasty-ass wound back to health. No. It wasn’t until she got the sweats and her hand swelled to three times the size of a normal human hand and two red streaks of infection made a run for her heart that she deemed it worth a visit to the ER. They wanted to keep her overnight but she refused. She is rugged.
I am not so much. I feel broken sometimes. I burned the roof of my mouth chomping on a hot garlic brussel sprout and I guess it was worse than I thought because a piece of my palate actually fell off. As in…it shed. As in, that is so damn gross but I just had to tell that story real quick. Do things like that happen? Do pieces just fall off sometimes? Because if so, I need to be prepared. I am no leper so far as I know and I plan on retaining all my necessary body parts. We already know the mind is not safe.