Scratch


Go on. Scratch again.

Go on. Scratch again.

The cats wanted food at four in the morning. When I didn’t give it to them, they barfed up a hairball in protest. When I got up to clean it I put down food. They proceeded to barf that up as well in retribution. I decided that I would clean this up later when it was, you know, daylight. For the next hour I lay very still counting backwards from one hundred over and over again and trying to focus on my breathing so that I didn’t have to focus on the fact that I still haven’t found a job and the crushing weight of the increasing sense of failure associated with that. The cats proceeded to scratch on every surface in the bedroom until I gave up and got up for the day in a foul mood.

So the day was not off to a stellar start.

We took another load of belongings up to the new house and managed to clear out our storage locker, so we counted that as progress and went home to take a nap. The kid upstairs stomped on the floor the whole time and someone slammed their car door six or seven times outside the window before a different car’s car alarm went off for two minutes before anybody shut it off. And the cats scratched some more, this time discovering that humans have a lot better aim when they have their contacts in and it is daylight.

I went out for a run, but it was a struggle. I wish I could say that it made me feel better, but I felt pretty much the same afterwards as I had before I’d gone out, only sweatier. Which was disappointing, but I suppose there has to be some trade off for the good ones- I just wish that if I was going to have a shitty run that I could have it on a better day. But that’s life for you.

 

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~ by Gwydhar Gebien on August 21, 2016.

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