Take a gander at it while you can – archives will disappear on December 31st.
(2019 says not)
Off to Mike’s for dins tonight. Haven’t figured out the exact lineup of attendees – Paul has already declared that he’s going to stay home and do revision on the 340, seeing as how he’s actually going to be called upon to fix them in the New Year.
Gave Katie one of her Christmas presents early (she was whining about wanting to open something NOW) so I handed her the Chicken soup for the teenager diary and she promptly locked herself in her room for the day, only coming out to say such things as “What do you think is my best feature?” and OF COURSE I say physical or character, and she says, physical, and I say, because it’s a no brainer, her eyes. (This sentence deleted, because even though Katie doesn’t read my blog she’d flail the mucus out of me if I even hinted at it.) Then she goes back in her room and I can hear her cursing every once in a while because ‘this is really hard’. Then she comes out and asks for a definition of compassion, which really has me squirming until I come up with something half assed, and then she goes back into her room. Some powerful alchemy going on in there, can’t say what the results will be.
Keith, who each day drifts a little closer to being a Buddhist, is constantly yelling at me, usually while he’s playing war games on the computer, to practice a little compassion every day. This is in response to my ill mannered attempts to pound sense into my spouse. (I’m still verbally abusive, I’m just much more crabby about it than I used to be). He’s right of course, and if I can make my way through the thickets of pomo irony, I’m sure a more compassionate heart will be mine.
Keith just crawled outta bed and is taking in Cowboy Bebop, a gift from Who Else, Mike.
Okay, I’ve been putting this off for many weeks now, but I finally have to confess, and it’s crazy making.
My cat has asthma. I really wish this weren’t true, but we went to the vet and the vet gave her steroids in pill form, which she ingested without question in her food, and she promptly stopped making that god awful coughing like she was going to die sound. So then we spent an ungodly amount of money on her puffer. Yes, Kira has a freaking puffer, with a little kitty mask. Keith picks her up every night and administers her meds and then promptly feeds her (associating something nice with something unpleasant). Now I come from a universe where cats are a free good and they don’t cost anything to maintain except food. So the notion that I’m going to be coughing up, you’ll excuse the expression, money for the rest of her natural goes against all of my feelings about how cats are supposed to be. People who like cats – or love cats – or are obsessed about cats – will think I’m an inhuman beast. But really the only thing that concerns me is that Keith is gonna be gone for a week and I’m the one on puffer duty while he’s at my brother’s. Apparently a week of the new LOTR game and sitting in his underwear has more appeal than hanging around here, and who could blame him? Pic is a childhood memory.
