2003-12-28

Ahem. I have returned from the depths of Pennsylventucky winter. Rainy season, I have missed thee. In summary, I ate lots of pumpkin cheesecake, got a hair cut, cooked some bad ass holiday meals, drank some 1977 port, laughed with both my parents and didn't miss my sister half as much as I should have.

Actually, I went to visit the little lass and give her presents galore on the 26th . She lives two hours from the folks, and I was driving the '88 station wagon. Tape deck, oh tape deck. I certainly didn't think to bring any tapes cross country with me. And thus, that morning, I frantically searched through my pile of reject tapes that never made it out of the bedroom. I found one cryptically titled "MIX!" with no song list. Why not?

I'll tell you why not, people. I'll tell you, for the love of God, why not.

It kicked off with Paula Abdul's Rush, Rush. Man, I used to love that violin solo. Cyndi Lauper's True Colors. More than Words by Extreme OF COURSE. Holy shit, When the Children fucking Cry by White Lion. Remember those whiny little bitches? No, I'm sure you don't, cause you're probably like 12-years-old, but shout out to the eighties folks in da house. Here's your moment to shine. "Little child, dry your cryin eyes. How can I explain...the fear you feel inside?"

Oh yeah.

Not to mention, um, lots of Billy Joel. And Bryan Adams.

By the way, this diary is top secret. Please, Jesus, keep this info to yourself. LOL! BFF! FSDJFSDA!!!

* Segue music *

When I was in high school, I dated a boy for about two-and-a-half years. In the beginning of our senior year, he had a sore ankle, lots of tests, a cast, etc. Eventually, he was diagnosed with cancer.

No, he didn't die. I'm sure he's living a healthy asshole life somewhere in the world. Bitter, ha ha!

Anyway, when he was diagnosed, a girl up the street had a cat who had kittens. We went to get him one, but there was a sister-brother pair who were oh-so cute, so boyfriend ended up with the boy kitten and we ended up with the girl, Verbena.

Verbena is dying. She has a stomach tumor and isn't eating or drinking. She was a groggy pile of fur and bones this week.

At one point every day, she'd rub against me and purr. This is where things get tricky. As heavy-hearted as we are, we don't want to prolong her misery. But if she can get enough joy during a day to purr, is she ready to go?

Impossible. I've lost many cats in my life and can say for all our discussions and sensitivities, we've never put a cat down soon enough. Looking back, we can see it, but at the time, our vision is clouded by sadness.

It was a very difficult week. I kissed her goodbye this morning and got on a plane.

Things are also sad, of course, because my mother stumbles with her walker to the stair-lift every night at 7:30 to go to bed, after eating a dinner that my dad cuts into bite-sized pieces for her and drinking water out of a plastic cup with a lid and straw.

Sigh.