I Should Be Asleep

But I’m not.  I’m up and wandering around the house like an aimless fool.  I got about zero done on my list of things to do and I smell.

I’m so very, very tired, but I just can’t bring myself to go to bed.

In Which I Make a Confession about Prayer

One drawback in believing in the power of direct communication with the Universe and all the interesting stuff in it is that, in times like this, I find it hard to pray.

First, it’s hard for me to articulate what I want.  Somehow saying it out loud means admitting I don’t think it’s inevitable.  That I have to want it means I’m not sure that it will come to pass.  And I don’t want to admit uncertainty.

Second, I realize that, at heart, I guess I believe that you must be willing to sacrifice something in equal value to what you want, if you’re going to stand there and ask People for that.  And there might be people who can work the terms of that bargain, but I’m not one of them.  I just don’t want to beg that everything be okay only to find out that wanting that has unintended consequences in some other way.

In other words, I feel like my dad has to cross through the dark forest Death hunts in.  And I, more than anything, don’t want him to come to Her attention.

I could beg folks I know to watch out for him, if they see him, but I feel like I then risk bringing attention to the fact that he’s in the forest alone, and that it would get back to Her.

And so, for now, I say nothing.

—-

Also, upon rereading this, I’m embarrassed to say that my rich inner life too closely resembles bad Lord of the Rings fan fiction for my own tastes.  But what can you do?

In Which I Make a Confession about the Tiny Cat

Reason number 1 I don’t sweat her butthair loss: It doesn’t seem to bother her.

Reason number 2: The vet still claims it’s just an allergy.

Reason number 3: Back when she had butthair, she had the worst dingleberries of any cat known to man and I don’t miss trying to unclump shit from an angry cat’s butthair.