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It's been a week. One week without my furry, purring, skittish Oz. I miss him more than I thought possible, and less too. I'm away from the house, all day, almost every day, so out of sight, out of mind. By at night, that's when it gets me. When I'm lying in bed I feel a phantom cat at my feet, warming them and getting in the way in the best way. Not phantom like ghost, phantom in the same way that amputees feel limbs after they're gone. Oz is my missing cat limb. I miss him at my feet or snugged into my side. I miss him so much at these quiet times of night when he'd come out of hiding to say hello and keep me company. I especially miss him during early mornings. That's when we really spent our time together of late. I'd wake up early and he'd keep me company, content to sit by me (or on me) while I read or wrote.

I can't even imagine what it's like for Josh. He works from home and spent practically 24 hours a day with oz for the last year and half. I think Josh is taking it worse than he lets on.

I just miss my cat. Is this nightmare over yet?
The end. At least he was not in pain.

Dying a little inside. No other words right now.


Ozymandias the Cat. Oz. Ozy. Oz Man. Oz Cat. The loofiest of floofs. Bug. Buggie. Bug-a-boo. Buddy.

Oz is in the hospital. I think my heart is gonna break.
Walked into the grad offices today. Saw the three directing students clustered together in one of their offices talking in hushed voices. They saw me, stopped talking or a moment, and shut the door. Don't you love when it's clear people are talking about you. At least it makes my paranoia more justified.

on failure and not

I don't feel quite as much a failure as I did the other day. I'm still semi embarassed to have the play up, but it's not as bad as I thought. I do think I probably need to see some kind of therapist. I'm just down all the time and crying and for no fucking reason ever. Also, I always think people hate me and are talking about me and spreading rumors behind my back. While this seems like paranoid behavior, I happen to know that that the latter (talking and spreading rumors) is true, so is it paranoid if it's really happening? I'm (mostly) fine during the day. It's just when I get home that things get hard. I need Josh to be so much more of a foundation for me. I need him to be a rock and he's just a pile of earth right now - steady at a glance but the potential to topple so you don't want to build anything on it. He was just so pissy and grumpy tonight and I really needed him to be warm and comforting for me. I need that a lot these days. maybe he's just getting tired of me.
a failure
feel like
like a
I feel
I feel like a failure.
The fucking puppy ate my powercord. Again. And I blamed Josh for it. Again. But this time it wasn't really my fault. Had I been using it not too much earlier in the evening? Sure. Did I know the puppy was out and about, tearing through the house, attacking the cat, dumping it's water out onto the kitchen floor under a plastic mat where I'm sure it's creating toxic mold or at the very least gross mildew? Should I have picked up the cable - yep. part of me feel like I shouldn't have to though - like it's my fucking house and I should have the right to leave out my computer cable for use. Part of me wouldn't be so angry, I think, if I hadn't just dropped $250 on Josh's birthday weekend, half of which was on an aforementioned incredibly mediocre meal.

I blamed Josh for it though, because in my head, it's his puppy, so he should be watching after her. The past week she's been calmer and I've . . . enjoyed might be a little strong, but I've not minded having her around and every now and then she's down right goofy/fun. Last night I tried to walk off my anger, and failed due to lung function (which still isn't near where it should be - I walked about half a mile and I was wheezing and had to come back, pathetic.) When I returned home I said to Josh that it was his idea to get a puppy, so therefore it is his puppy and he needed to pay for my cord and figure out what the fuck to do to make it so she doesn't do it again. He said he would do that but he feels like the puppy was both our ideas, she's ours. I told him that I made the decision to get a dog without full disclosure of the facts (implied, full discloseure from him,) therefore she is his dog.

This was a Low Blow.

It's cruel to continue to bring up an indiscretion that I have forgiven him for. And yet it's true. I had no idea how fucked up our money situation was when we were discussing dogs this summer. If i knew that two thirds of our money was going to pay off debts I would NEVER have agreed to or entertained the idea of a dog. NEVER. That is a fact. The only reason I felt it could be done now was because we had a financial cushion. I find myself resenting her as a symbol of my husband's biggest deceit. I don't know if I'll ever be able to see her in another light. I may grow to enjoy her but she will always be a debt dog.

So how do I do this? How do I make it so that I don't hate our dog? Am I just too rooted in my creature comforts, too selfish to care for another being that take effort? Do I do that to Josh? Am I that selfish with him that I always focus on me me me?

Tune in next time to find out.
(Cue 30's radio program suspense music.)

Clean up after the water

b-day musings.

Not mine - Josh's. I wanted to get him big electronic things that he loves and has been wanting, but I just didn't have the big $$ to drop on them. So I got him a book and a game - very nice and I'm sure appreciated, but without the same "wow" factor. Then I took him to dinner - part of the present I suppose. He's always loved fondue, or at least the idea of it, but has rarely had it. I took him to the Melting Pot. What a fucking rip off. $121 included three drinks, cheese appetizer, two entrees, desert, tax, and tip. All the same, the food was almost $80 and it was not nearly good enough for that price. For $120 I want upscale. The bathrooms had broken locks, the ingredients were only okay. I realized somewhere in the meal this is "high brow" food for "low brow" people. Then I realized how judgemental I was being and stopped. Long story short, I have a belly ache from so-so food and am $120 poorer. Shoulda gone to Vintage 301 or Lucky 32. Less money, better food.

Ah well - he loved it. That's what really matters.


Anxiety is the word of the day. Too much coffee? Too much work not done? Afraid of the work undone? Afraid of choices so I make no choice? Yes, yes, yes, and yes. Frustrated by my lack of work. If a person wants to do something, they do it. I make noise about wanting to do something and then don't do it. What does that say about me? And now, instead of doing, I write about it. What the fuck is wrong with me? I can pretend to have confidence, but when it counts, I have none.

I need to stop being afraid of being wrong and just do things and try them out. I used to be able to do this. Why can't I now? Why have I regressed into this pseudo-teenaged lack of confidence thing. Why the constant need for validation?

feeling of I don't know what.

Yesterday I went to the wedding of one of my dearest, closest friends. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. The whole event went off without many hitches. (Well, there were hitches, but nothing that couldn't be overcome.) And then after, Josh went to return the rental car (which is a whole different matter) and I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge with all of us in our wedding finery, minus the shoes. And we walked to Chinatown and tried to go into the story booth and were having a great time. And as we went into the restaurant, I got to sit next to D and we were talking and laughing. It was all amazing.

And then.

And then my husband called and said that his best friend's father died and instead of joining me he was going to his best friend's house to be with him. Of course he was. Of COURSE. It's such a horrible thing and how fortunate that Josh was in town to be able to comfort his friend. And while Josh gave me a choice (stay or come with him) I of course went with him. It was the right thing to do. And at his friend's house we said vaguely comforting things, ate bad Thai takeout, and played some Nintendo. I fell asleep; it had been a long day.

Sometimes I hate the right thing.

I wanted so badly to be part of every second of the wedding. I wanted to see her face filed with joy for as long as possible and be around that kind of joy. I know. I know I did the thing that I should have done. But a big part of me wished I had stayed in Chinatown to continue the celebration, because would my condolences have meant any less 3 hours later? It was a good thing but it makes me feel . . . . I don't know what.

I feel like I felt my senior year of College, when the faculty was putting on a show for the seniors and it was rocky horror themed (!) and i was sitting with my close friends having a blast and then one of them got sick and we had to rush her out of there and take care of her and I missed most of the performance that I really wanted to see. but it wasn't just that I missed it, it was that I missed seeing it with my closest and dearest. And I was internally mad at the friend who got sick, but knew it was the Right Thing to take care of her.

I hate being the responsible one.