I bought myself a composition book at walgreens the other day. and pens. it is a gift i have not given myself for more than a few years. many many years more than a few in point of fact. it is good. the words are closer to my hands and i have been finding them more easily.
i am reading a book called "yoga for people you can't be bothered to do it." it's a travelogue. seriously. this last 6 days have been so utterly uneventful and yet it seems that so much has happened. it's like the reverse of being on a train watching the world go by. i feel it in my stomach, that slightly off-kilter rocking sensation where normal is moving and standing still makes you sea sick. i drink and have not gotten past tipsy - not even the spins. i am still working on the 2nd bottle of tequila - no, brad, i have not finished it yet. and then i wake up and everything is all topsy turvy. my head is dry, my mouth is spinning, my stomach feels full before i eat, i am fascinated by the colors outside and find my room a terrorizing place to be.
my room. my bedroom. shared by the kittens and wigs. also now the place of pilgrimage for visitors come to see the babies. it is deeply troubling. no, it is more than that. i fucking hate it. i hate that i take people up to see the tiny beings who need to sleep and eat and learn their mother and their family. i hate that we are going to send them away in 8 weeks. (not because i want to keep any one of them. they are moving out.)
i don't want anyone in my room besides me on the best of days. anne has taken to knocking - it's like we live in a dorm. and yet, there is nothing correct about keeping potential families away from the kittens. there is nothing inappropriate about it. and once i move them into anne's room, i'm not going to hate it any less. it's the same thing that i go through when folks visit to see newborns or just to take a look at your new place. you can't interact with the babies - they are too fucking small and if there are too many people around, wigs will move them and move them and freak out and there will be paranoid, stressed out, angry felines everywhere. however, if people don't play with them, they will never be socialized (or so the books tell us).
to me, they are not cute. they are incredible and amazing and loud and they already have their own personalities, which is good because two of them look exactly the fuck alike. they fight and they mewl and they feed and hiss and yawn and get their butts licked and hate it. one of them nuzzles. one of them climbs already. spleen is a boy. ew is a girl. one of the wigs jr's is a girl and one a boy. i think. sexing kittens is not tricky business (what they hell do they care) but i am no vet and haven't had enough experience with this to presume absolute knowledge. i am thinking of finding a place where they can be visited that will allow room for viewing and later room for playing without crowding anyone.
i have jet lag and have not travelled anywhere. everything is covered with the gray of coming to be, and nothing is there yet. that blur of definition in progress that comes when my world finds itself transformed into letter and rhythm and line and action. dogs approach me, cats don't run away, fireflies land on my hand without coaxing. it is not a wrong place, it is different. and the streets and houses and workplaces and people are all the same. they look different to me, as if in a dream only they are real, they are who i know them to be. perhaps this is the kind of thing that i will know from now on. perhaps this is why the writer of that book is so involved in philosophical discussions about the reality of place and the possibility of mental interference on that reality.
my glasses are repaired and yet i find myself taking them off because i see better that way.
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