today's adventure

It has been way, way too long.

I blame myspace, and the general lackadaisical feeling summertime seems to inspire. I sat around for a time, downloaded a bunch of Doctor Who, went to Florida for a bit and then got an old job back for the last eight weeks.

Today I had to open the bookstore, and salvation came in the form of one of my coworkers around three. It was my last day, and its partially a relief because it is so exhausting in that store, such a strain on my mental state. But I am also sad because I get so into it when I'm there... I want the store to do well and I want it to be a nice place and I worry about my boss. I feel a bit like I am leaving them in a lurch, but what can I do? It was the agreed arrangement, and I can't stay any longer, I've got to pack up for school. We have to accept these things I guess, and I know my leaving won't do the store in... and I wouldn't want to be permanent staff; I don't want to work there indefinitely, I think it would drive me mad. But I can't help but feel a little guilty about it... Catholic guilt I suppose...

My sister moved out today, left this morning around eight a.m. with most of my family in tow, and I shouldn't miss her as much as I do already.

I was driving home from work and cresting the hill just outside my subdivision, and as I came over the peak I suddenly saw a flash of white and black in the opposite lane, and I realized it was a dead cat. Black fur, black tail, white paws, little white face, and thick white breast, and the sick yellow spill of intestines ... and my heart stopped.

I swerved onto the shoulder at the bottom of the hill, and jumped out. I wondered what I possibly might do - there was no one at home, but I had a trashbag in the trunk, and a shoebox in the backseat, and I could get it ready for--for whatever came next. I ran up the hill in my new flat-footed sneakers, the strange pound of pavement; this surreal place so near my own home, and as I came upon the corpse my breath came shuddering out in a keening wail of agony.

The cat had been dead sometime. It was in a bad state. Flies traipsed across it lazily as though affected by the heat. I stood next to it, feeling the steaming asphalt churning under my feet, and I realized the cat was too small, the fur too long, and the coloring grayer, less sleek. It was not my Oreo, not my favorite, not my baby. I was sobbing and I wanted to get it out of the road but I was sick in the ditch and could not touch it. It was not mine. It was not mine.