Saturday, August 25, 2012

Chilled or Numb

 Tempting to say that I owe your and/or myself a post, but that isn’t true. Posts in the past have been written because I need to write.

It’s been a while.

In Bloomington now, living with Fisher in our wonderful little duplex with a huge backyard. No joke, the back yard is massive. Ok, maybe it seems massive because I’ve lived in apartments since I went to undergrad in ’94. But there’s really no need to walk S* because of the size of the yard and her age.

For 12 she can still go full puppy, especially at 5:3 am when she wants me to wake up and feed her. She plays with Fisher in the backyard, which seems to have good effects on both of them. She’s been a way for him to transition from crappy day at work to being at home. It was the same way for the ex. She’s good that way.

Cats are doing well. R* is 14 and mainly, ok all the time, lies around. He seems content and healthy. His hearing must be going because his meow is getting louder and there was one morning that I had to wake him for his breakfast. He lives and dies by the sound of me opening the tin of cat food. So for him to not hear all of us bumble downstairs was unusual.

H* has caught two mice. There are many gaps between the house and the foundation and Fisher and I were surprised that we don’t have a family of raccoons or possums living in the basement. It is a very scary basement, so maybe they’re turned off by that. The first mouse was dead when I got to it, but unbloody. The second mouse was kinda twitching and wasn’t outside in the paper towel shroud the next morning. Maybe eaten, maybe limped away, maybe both.

My supervisor that hired me has moved on to another department on campus. I really liked working him. He’s laid back and let me be creative. The new guy is more of micromanager. Good motivation to find a job with the university that is full time and therefore has benefits.

Fisher and I are doing fine. He’s been extremely busy at work and that means not seeing so each so much.

Thank god I’m not the same psychotic b*tch I was when we first dated. I don’t call him 30 times in a day in panic/anxiety mode. I do my best to chill and know that he’ll climb into bed next to me at some point.

This is S* in one of my flower beds.

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