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Monday, Jan. 31, 2005 / 5:54 p.m. ~Triggers~ Last night I was thinking about how long it's been since I cried, how long it seems since I last lost my composure, since it all seemed rather bleak, since I grew so tired, or frustrated, or angry with my life that I exploded into a fit of tears and angst-ridden moaning, or fetal position hugging of knees to chin, tiring of this, all of this, not just being alive, but being alive in my life. On my way home from work tonight I was thinking of sex, and not just sex, but making love, and that moment, that surge of affection before it all happens, that moment when I want to reach out my hand and touch, hand, face, skin, skin to skin. That first electric moment that leads to every successive moment. Then I stopped to wonder who else might be thinking of sex, who else in all those cars was not only listening to music, or talking on a cell phone, or to a companion seated near, but who also was thinking of that feeling of that first touch that brings all the rest. And then I came home, and I'd thought not to turn on my computer, not until later, I could sit on the sofa with both cats and cuddle them a bit, watch some television, sign on later, write a little something and call it a day. But I left it on when I came home for lunch, all save the email, and so I logged on to it, just to see, and had a few replies I needed to write, and meanwhile I heard scratchings in the litter box, as my not feeding the cats who live here also is not normal. I feed them first thing, usually, but I stopped first this time, selfishly, selfishly I thought of me, and what I wanted. Then one of them came in here and vomited on the faux Oriental rug, and it was spittle, it was water, it was saliva, and I cleaned up, just a wipe with some paper towels, thinking I am a horrible housecleaner, I am no good at cleaning, I am horrible, and I need to go to more trouble, there is more I need to do, and I need to feed them, and then I smelled the deposit in the litter box, and I stopped to clean it, scooping the waste they can't help but leave there, and thank god now it's staying there, and only there, and not all over the homestead here, like last summer. As I was wiping vomit/spittle and scooping the scoopage, I thought this, "Never again. Mark my words, mark these words, somewhere note them, mark them, write them, never again, and remind me if you have to, someone, anyone, I will never do this again, I cannot ever do this again, I don't ever want to do this again, not ever." So here it is written. I love them, with all my heart, as much as I have always loved animals, all animals, and cared for them, and resented them, and loved them still, I love them, more than I can stand at times, more than I know what to do with, this love I feel for them. They give to me without question, affection, warmth, joy, pleasure and intense unhappiness. Such a mixture, like any relationship, with anyone, and I need to get away, from any relationship, any one, with anyone, because sometimes I don't want it, I want to be alone, I want to be selfish, I do not want to CARE for anyone. This is when I'm glad I never had children, but at times I do want them too, and I've not written that I will never have them, I've not said, with any conviction, that I will never give birth, that I will never adopt, because it is too grand an idea, a concept, and I have no idea how I'll feel later. But this I know, I would be terrible. I am terrible, I do not handle it well, not all the time, not the cleaning, not the caregiving. And so it was a trigger, the necessity of maintenance, any maintenance, theirs, mine, the apartment, the usual things that 'need doing', and it all toppled on my psyche in one fell swoop as I saw it escalate, as the other cat vomited next. It was shit and piss and vomit and me trying to feed them and wondering why. It was a vicious cycle of constant maintaining to keep them alive and me alive in turn, and it's Monday, so I'm tired, quite naturally, and I hate my job, I've always hated my job, and now my job is disappearing, I have no choice, I am without job in weeks, and I can barely struggle with the idea of re-writing my resume, much less looking, sincerely looking. Not to even mention the apartment situation, and do I renew, or do I not renew, and where would I go, and what can I afford, and it all just came crashing down on me as I sat to monitor the two cats eating their food, making sure the one doesn't push the other out of the way and help herself to that bowlful as well, making sure the one eats more dry than wet, the other eats more wet than dry, and wanting them to live forever, and please, god, don't ever die, for I will die too, I cannot handle them growing old and sick and dying, but I cannot handle the cleaning of so much detritus, so much filth and waste, and just wanting to come in and sit down and write some email, or read a diary or journal, or turn on the TV and see the video footage of whatever happened, today. Today. It was simply a trigger, it was just a thing that led to another thing, that led me down a road of hopelessness and fatigue, and reminded me of that feeling of not wanting to be doing this, any of it, and not just this or that or the other, but any of it. I am so tired. Of my life. Yet this is it. My online astrologer advises me this week to appreciate all I have, not to want some lofty ideal of what I think I should have. He tells me I have so much right now, and if all I ever wanted was to be happy, then this is it, I am, I have it all, now. I don't need whatever it is I think I need. I can see me renewing my lease, staying here forever, sinking deeper and deeper into this rut, yet the job will be new, there is no choice there. And the rest? The cats will get sick, the cats will die, this is inevitable, the timetable unknown. Meanwhile I scoop and I wipe, and I wash, and I clean and I maintain, the bare minimum, and some days, like today, I lose my composure, and I remember how it feels to feel all of it. Cost of the War in Iraq
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