11/28/11 new cat

Is it too soon to be overjoyed? Katie says, her hand buried in a bellyful of the softest fur either of us has ever felt, "I feel like were dancing on Honey's grave."

Every time I believe I've reached my capacity, for love or happiness or whatever, I am blown wide open by yet another thing that proves to me I have no idea how much I can feel, love, enjoy, experience. A long haired calico cat with a white belly and sweet green eyes purrs between us as we lie on the bed, her back pushed up against my leg, one pink-padded paw draped over Katie's leg, and my heart feels fit to burst.

11/22/11 Rrrrargh

Work has been brutal, the last week. The accumulated karma of 15 years of slacking coming home to roost.

It feels like something inside me has been beaten - not defeated, but actually beaten, tenderized. A part of me has given up, at least for now, but even so, I can feel it lurking, waiting to rise back up and assert its stupid, foolish dominance.

11/15/11 Allocating your time

"I don't believe that you spend 7o% of your time on my work," I read in her email, and the anxiety which I'd been staving off for the past few hours comes crashing back. My head seems to swell up like a balloon full of blood and I wonder if this is what it feels like right before a person has a stroke.

This is what comes of working in industries where you have no native talent or interest, and a strange resolve kindles in me.

I am going to find a job in a place that roughly corresponds to what I actually care about.

11/13/11 I know how you feel, kid.

The child walking behind us begins to snarl and howl. His mother gently encourages his displays of spookiness: "Oh, you're pretty scary."

I look up for the full moon that has been dogging me the past few days, but I can't seem to find it. The kid goes, "Ow-oooooooooooo!"

11/12/11 too soon?

"Katie" is the name they give for the calico/Maine coon cat mix in the cage in front of us. Her eyes, the same color as my only-a-week-gone-kitteh, watch us with relaxed interest, and then close in satisfaction as we stroke her long, soft fur.

We talk ourselves into and out of taking her home four different times over the course of an hour, finally deciding that it wouldn't be fair to bring her home for a few months and then have us leave on vacation.

Of course, the real reason is that we still haven't completely gotten rid of all the cat hair, and toys, dishes, and pillows where she slept, that remind us of Honey.

11/11/11 Fall Fell

Overnight, the city has gone from the shabby end of summer to full blown fall. The ginko trees shed golden leaves in sheets as cold wind gusts down Brooklyn streets.

Katie and I walk west with clouds scudding overhead, past trees with brick-toned leaves. "Are they the same color as my hair?" she asks, knowing that, even in the fleeting sun, they couldn't possibly shine as bright as that.

11/9/11 Waking Up is Hard to Do

Katie's new job has us waking at the same time, and both of our alarms go off simultaneously, making a quiet digital racket in our bedroom.

She and I have completely different morning styles, given that she would like to murder all goodness in her rage at being awake anytime before nine A.M., and I am cheerful, instantly awake, and full of energy.

Last night I commented on us being up at the same time, and how did she like it? "You're so cute in the morning I want to smother you with a pillow," she said.