Andare, Partire, Tornare

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still tilted

This is an attempt to get back to normal - or at least as normal as I can manage at the moment. It's surprising, in some ways, how the loss of a pet can devestate you, mostly in ways that non-pet people don't understand. But then, for many of us, it isn't simply a pet who has gone - it's a loved one, a member of the family. Bemo is taking it particularly hard, especially since this is the time of year when his manic depression cycles over mostly to "simply" depression, and now he feels a grief he can't shake. I think he's being a little hard on himself, since it's only been a few days since Bogie died, and we had a long talk about it this evening. Part of the problem is that he's alone in the house much of the day, and finds himself turning around in the computer chair and expecting to see Bogie curled up on the futon, or in his cat bed, or whining because his food bowl isn't as full as he'd like it. All these things, all these things.

Anyway, that's not much getting back to normal, is it? Right, then. I am currently in the middle of a techno music download, mostly inspired by the Bourne Identity soundtrack, which I love. I was surprised to find out, some years ago, that I rather like techno and indeed get into moods where it's all I want to listen to. Not something I'd have guessed about myself, really, since I don't like rap and most dance music at all (except for Italian pop stuff, which is an exception I cheerfully make to my rules). It's snowing outside, big fluffy splats of wetness that aren't really sticking to the roads much, but making a pretty picture coming down in the sky. The earpiece off my glasses has broken, so I haven't popped out my contacts yet this evening - usually by this point I'm in glasses. It feels like coming home and changing into sweats after a day of wearing dressy slacks. The futon, after its catastrophic encounter with my ass last week, is repaired and back in service, albeit cautiously. Bemo and I will be very gentle sitting on it for a while, until we're sure it's not going to crack embarassingly under us.

And, I suppose, that's all I feel like talking about this evening. Baby steps, yes?

7:08 p.m. - 2003-02-27

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