April 6th, 2002

gericault_raft of the medusa 1


Does anyone at all read this thing on Saturday? I'm sure you all have better things to do. If I wrote anything right now, it would be incoherent, anyway. Good night.
  • Current Music
    The siren song of sleep
caillebotte_man at his window

My Day, by Rejectomorph

So after I've been asleep for a half hour or so, I'm awakened by the sound of the cat retching under my bed. I look down and see that she has coughed up a hairball. I'm tired. I'll clean it up in the morning. (My morning- even though I sleep days I still think of the time I wake up as morning.) I try to go back to sleep, but the cat continues to retch in various parts of the room Big hair ball. Finally, she lets out one of those throaty meows that signifies extreme displeasure with the way she is feeling. I get up. She has coughed up little piles of foamy liquid all over the room.

Well, I have to get up and put shoes on and look in the cat medical book and then she wants to go outside and eat grass. It is a bright morning and chilly and I don't want her to stay out too long, so I go out with her. She munches for a while and gives dirty looks to the other cat and to the cat across the street, while I am entertained by a woodpecker hammering away at a pine tree. Eventually, she has had her fill of grass, and comes back in the house. I go back to bed, after cleaning up all the little deposits of kitty sick.

Of course, I don't wake up again until two o'clock, and have no time for a walk, and still feel all groggy. Furthermore, I feel queasy. Maybe I've got what the cat has. Maybe I should go out and eat some grass. In lieu of this, I eat fried potatoes. Yes, I'm stupid. But I feel better now, and the cool evening finds me only a little bit behind schedule. Now some coffee and a shower and some e-mailing. The cat and I might survive.

Apropos of nothing in particular: time confuses the hell out of me.