Irrational rollercoaster
It's been a few weeks since I posted on here, and while I never really intended to blog daily or air all of my personal emotional baggage, I do feel a teensy bit of guilt for not keeping up with it. I'm going to try my best to at least get on here once a week, at least until the writing bug starts to hit me more regularly.
I want to write, but don't necessarily feel like the universe wants or needs to hear about the irrational rollercoaster I'm coasting along these days. I'm fine most of the time, but still experience weirdly isolated pockets (maybe "pangs" is more accurate) of sadness from time to time when I miss my kitty. It's difficult to retrain yourself to do things differently after 14 years of habitual behavior. Redecorating my living room was fun, but moments like laundering the slipcover of the cat's couch (an old couch that sits in my bedroom, but was more like his personal sleeping quarters) or taking the final plastic cat litter carton to the recycling center tend to send me to an unpleasant head space. I have a photo that I keep on the desk right next to my computer monitor picturing a very young (about 8 weeks), rebellious, hell-raising terror of a tiny kitten shortly after I got him. Even at his advanced age, I always looked at him as my mischievious, sweet, hilariously entertaining baby kitten.
It's just really hard to believe he's gone, although I'm reminded every day and it gets slightly easier to walk back in the door at night after work...
I want to write, but don't necessarily feel like the universe wants or needs to hear about the irrational rollercoaster I'm coasting along these days. I'm fine most of the time, but still experience weirdly isolated pockets (maybe "pangs" is more accurate) of sadness from time to time when I miss my kitty. It's difficult to retrain yourself to do things differently after 14 years of habitual behavior. Redecorating my living room was fun, but moments like laundering the slipcover of the cat's couch (an old couch that sits in my bedroom, but was more like his personal sleeping quarters) or taking the final plastic cat litter carton to the recycling center tend to send me to an unpleasant head space. I have a photo that I keep on the desk right next to my computer monitor picturing a very young (about 8 weeks), rebellious, hell-raising terror of a tiny kitten shortly after I got him. Even at his advanced age, I always looked at him as my mischievious, sweet, hilariously entertaining baby kitten.
It's just really hard to believe he's gone, although I'm reminded every day and it gets slightly easier to walk back in the door at night after work...
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