I’m building a Leggo block house with extra high walls to prevent monsters, and additional protection is “pew” guns that shoot thorns for the girl and her cat. Three-year-old Evelyn’s imagination is brilliant.
Out of practice are my cat whisperer chops, and I’m scrambling to think of how to make my cousin’s cats feel more at home. A scratched big toe, a blanket tumbling in the washer smelling of cat pee, and their never-ending hiding makes me doubt that a mutually beneficial cohabitation can exist.
Maybe Dave’s right to ask my cousin to come by.
Even after bumping up the thermostat two degrees, I have that perpetual cold feeling. The only fix I know of is a long, hot shower—one second.
That’s better. While being hit with beads of water, my mind wound up in the same place it routinely does; my and others’ death. I disdain mortality’s knife edge against my neck, but what choice do I have?
Seriously though. Is there a way to not look at my daughter’s face and transport her to a future when I’m dead, and she’s without me? Or for her to interact with her grandparents and wonder when will be the last time? It’s fucking painful living and loving this sincerely; where is the dial-it-down button?
Sitting in the stillness, listening to the aquarium filter bubble, the pain in my chest expands. Behind my eyes are tears not yet falling, and I sit. As the knife’s edge recedes, I take a breath and return to knowing that it will all be ok.
It will. Truly.