I'm awake

Which isn't usually that surprising, except that I pulled an all-nighter and went to work with a two-hour nap from dawn to about nine. Oddly enough, with the exception of bad hair, I did rather well, and was awake and active right up until the time I got home, at which point I crashed.

I went to Perkins late last night--it's one of the few places to eat that's open after the bars close--and although it was not chock full of loud, obnoxious drunk people like the last time I was there, there was one woman who had an extremely loud, nasal voice (think Gloria from Mame) who was holding court with a table of men and milking it for all the attention it was worth, who looked like Olive Oyl in a plunging halter. We also had a waiter who used 'dude' and 'man' and spoke like he'd been smoking weed, very surferesque, which is a little odd affectation here in the Bluegrass. Two girls were watching the show, plus studying for school I guess. Well, one was watching the show, and one was kind of Goth and basking in the blue glow of a laptop.

Perkins in the middle of the night. It's a gold mine (I must still be a little sleep-deprived; I almost typed 'land-mine') for people watching and budding writers, although not always good for being able to hear your own thoughts or carry on a conversation. Still, I had a mushroom & cheese omelet and pancakes, a free meal, and good company, and I so needed an outing.

In the struggle to dehoard my apartment, I haven't had a chance to really mourn Buns properly. Yesterday at work I was at my computer, having a quiet moment, and it really hit me that he was gone. Then I came home and checked my mail and the vet office had sent a condolence card that was very sweet (I'd chosen my vet based on the experiences of others who'd had to put pets down; they're very concerned with the well-being of the human side of the family, too. I was able to hold and pet Buns until the end, and she asked me questions like whether I'd rather see her wrap him up or not, that kind of thing). When I got the card, it all seemed more real suddenly, and I teared up.

Today, I caught myself calling one of the other cats by his name. I'm mostly okay, really, but it's harder than I imagined to get used to that sense that there's something missing from the whole that lingers after the relief of it all coming to an end. I know that it was utterly right to do, though, and that's a comfort. It was actually way past the time, really. But I'm a little surprised, because despite having Buns for twelve years, I always saw him as closer to a friend (whom he adored) and until he started feeling bad, he was always somewhat stand-offish with me. I'd adopted him as a comfort to Spock, who'd lost a sister in the divorce, but I didn't ever really realise how much I'd bonded with him over the years. I try to give all my animals equal time, but Spock is of course the one who is constantly with me--it's just his nature, following me from room to room, having to be near me or on me at all times--but even Darius (the unseen cat to anyone else in the house) was more of a cuddler than Buns, although it has to be on his own terms. So I'm a little surprised at the sense of loss for his physical presence. Does that make any sense?

It's amazing how different their personalities are, and how much of an effect they have on our lives. Anyone who sees a cat or dog as 'just an animal' has the empathy of a rock. I'm convinced that there are two types of people: those who 'get' animal companionship and those that don't. There are people who are at the fringe of both sides; I've known a few people (all women, actually) who related better to animals than to people, and frankly, I used to be one of them. I've known others who have no compunction to poison a cat because it goes after the birds in the yard, or who see a dog as just a security system. (Mind you, no one in the latter category is what I would call a friend, or even a close acquaintance...my experience is that if they dismiss an animal that easily, they're not really great with people, either. They're people I know of or interact with on a very superficial basis.)

Well, I guess that's enough babbling for now. Just wanted to 'catch up', so to speak. I feel almost like I do when I move...lots of toting things, cleaning, and little sleep or food. But the house is much better (although not completely together). I haven't been able to eliminate the smell where Buns had soiled the carpet; I'm thinking it's going to take a professional cleaner--or more realistically, replacing the carpet, but that's not finacially feasible just yet). I can see the floor of the study and even things that are not in a place (because, for example, I probably need about five more bookshelves) are at least stacked in a more pleasing manner. So...I'm starting to reap the rewards to a less cluttered environment. I have to do this periodically, because I have a tendency to hoard (well, okay, actually I have a pathological need due to my OCD, although I haven't really been full-blown hoarding so much as just unmotivated to really do anything about stuff; sometimes being on medicine to prevent the swing between building pathways of junk and ultra-maniacal cleaning has such a calming effect that I'm just messy). It's sort of like binging and purging with food--I do it with stuff. I get to a point where there's a buildup--usually of paper--and then to bring some sanity and Zen-ness back into my life, I have to go through and get rid of it. And yes, I know it's easier to do at the time, but when you're running all over or feeling a little depressed it's easy to let it build up, you know? But taking control of the clutter makes me feel more confident in general and just seems to make for a more relaxed environment. Plus, I found my Hebrew book, my Dictionary of Baby Names that I want to lend to an expectant mother, and several other things I'd been looking for. It's like getting new stuff in a way. :)