OK, the sun is shining, I've had breakfast, Emmy is snoozing on the rug beside me after having climbed up onto the refrigerator to see if she couldn't get to the cat food cupboard in a vain attempt to find something more than this turkey flavored shit I've been feeding her (which she will eat, something she won't with any of the many others I've tried) and I'm up for feeling up and bright and ready for the day (and the week and the month and the year, thank you very much) which is how you're supposed to feel on the first day of a weekend coming off a week's vacation. So how am I doing?
I did mention to the doctor I wanted to try something for low level depression when I meet with him on Monday. More than one reader has recommended I try it ("works for me, works for my husband, works for all of the other writers in the world, not that you're a writer of course, but you seem, well, depressed and it's time to get over it!") and, since I'm ambivalent about taking a Prozac derivative if it will help, I will. So we'll see. A week off to think about art and life and where to go from here (as opposed to all the other days and weeks I've taken off to think about art and life and where to go from here) and what have I come up with?
If I'm right about needing to find other employment - something I've been repeating every year now for how many years? - yet keeping myself in denial (prostate removal, dizzy spells and other ills are good excuses to not make plans and keep oblivious to the obvious). People get along with much worse than vertigo. Not everyone conjures thoughts of fatal disease with every little physical failure, so why not hang it up, go for the pills and finish the firewall? Can you put your life back together without a firewall? And a web cam? A bunch of web cams? (Hup!)
That's Emmy up top, in case you wondered. See what I mean about wraith-like, a little demon come from the other side for a purpose yet to be disclosed? She's a good cat. MSW suggests she has a name other than Emmy and that name will come to me one day and I will say "of course". This may be true. Her former mistress has since packed up her family and moved to Hawaii. Emmy was named "Brain" as in "Pinky and Brain", a cartoon I'm not familiar with. A woman should have a brain, but should not be named "brain" no matter how cute the character. "Emmy" is much better, a combination of the names of the two women who brought her to me. MSW may be correct, MSW knows about cats and their nomenclature and if that's true then that's OK too.
What do I mean, exactly, with this dialogue? Well, look at her. She throws up, she likes to yowl, she's picky about food and she reminds me of the demon who's sent to lead you over to the other side. Still, things become smoother over time. Reality loses some of its edges. Ms. Emmy has become more laid back since her arrival. She climbs up on my lap and purrs. She makes her complaints about her food and then she eats the food and is able to keep it down, she eats a fair amount of the dry kibble-dee-shit no matter the brand (with water) and sleeps in comparative contentment at the foot of my bed as is her right and prerogative. In what looks to be contentment.
Emmy, with better luck and disposition, you could have been spending your days in Hawaii drinking Pina Coladas yet you end up here. Best to chill, for me to chill, even if you are a wraith in waiting; purpose unknown, coming whenever.