This morning, for the first time in a week, I woke up in my bed. Monika and I have not slept in our actual bed, but instead on our new couch for the last week for varying reasons. Mostly, because we’re both so fucking busy that the pile of clean clothes stacked in the middle of our bed went unfolded, and I refuse to sweep it onto the floor to crawl in because the carpet is covered in cat hair.
It doesn’t matter where we sleep, for the most part, the cats find us and sleep with us. Guest room, couch, real bedroom, they find us, and sleep there. They don’t bother us, for the most part, because when they were young and would piss me off, they were expelled, and ignored. They learned to behave.
The other reason is that I’ve been having a ton of allergic reactions, and I’m trying to narrow down the cause of my itchy fits. I think it’s the clothing detergent. Seems likely, right. Washed all my clothes; have not had a chance to wash all my bedding…until yesterday.
Didn’t really have a long holiday weekend to catch up on that kind of stuff. Show on Wednesday night, home at 3:30 AM. Thanksgiving out on City Line Ave with family, but also a late night. Black Friday, Saturday and Sunday at the good old Mart. Back at Films on Monday.
So yeah, busy. Cats, not so much. Eno has become basically an outside cat (almost). These two barely use a litter box anymore. They prefer the outside. Probably smells better, too.
Monika at Hebrew school tonight. We’re still sorting through all our personal belongings to see what we’ll re-incorporate into our re-designed home, pack away in the attic, or donate to goodwill, or just plain trash. It’s hard to throw away things that remind us of our past.
It’s like a memory, and once that specific, quirky, ugly, non-useful object is gone, so is the reminder of the part of our past that we’d like to hold onto. So, we hold onto things, in boxes and tubs, indefinitely, because we’d never throw away our past, and don’t want to lose any memories.
On The Verge of Tears 