Backing confusedly away from the crackling of flea-drop packaging, the cat has fallen off the table.

This seems a sufficient starting point.  Or, a resuming point.  A renewal, an opening of proverbial windows with the hopes of perhaps some flushing breeze.

As it stands, I have graduated, and I need a job.  I need a job that will let me take three to four weeks off to travel after only three months of work, will give generous benefits, and won't mind that come next autumn I'm sure to stumble upon some shining Life Opportunity and quit on positive and well-wishing terms.

I do not dislike staying home every day.  Perhaps the house-wife thing doesn't trigger the Stir Crazies as rapidly as one would think.  I could be cut out for it.  My profession could include buzzing around the house on caffeine like a space cadet, dabbling in whatever feels amusing or sufficiently substantial.
But every time I write a check to pay a bill right now, I cringe a little.  Graduation money will have whirlpooled down the drain after a few months.  I am not a well-supported freelance space cadet.  I am unemployed and unenrolled.  Funny, after a lifestyle of dragging mindlessly through crippling hours-per-week on top of earning a degree in creative babbling and bullshit.  Grad school will happen someday, but not until I am rested--by which I mean, not until I sense the inkling return of I Actually Give a Damn.

Today I will finish and return The Bell Jar.  I happened to stumble upon the lines from which the title originates, last night while trying to read under the influence.  It really throws a fascinating color over the whole narrative.

Anyway, here's to new creative space, rest periods, and the return of motivation and enthusiasm for what I thought I'd like to do with my life.
Here's to the cat, who has lightly bounded back up onto my lap again.

Cheers to Jason for posting addictive links...

http://www.icanhascheezburger.com/category/lolcat/page/2/

Sunday Night

I have this horrible worry

this horrible worry

that someone else around me will die

(If Brian doesn't come back from Florida soon I might really start to wonder
He said they could possibly return tonight, but maybe not)

I feel like something is being pulled out of me, of my center -
this grief

 It will take a long time.

There was thunder last night.  There was an estranged man screaming down the street near midnight.  I got to bed late.  Pictures of Bob went through my mind, through my mind, through as I slept.

Mollie says she had nightmares.  I think we all woke up on cold stone, and remembered.

If I could have written it all down as it happened--
but I was too tired to care, to push myself.

This is at once too real, and merely hypothetical.
A tornado drill.  Bob is gone, this is what happens, yes it's scary but now it's over.  Right?  Now you can know that he's here again, okay?

No.

Jeff Lidke is arranging a Buddhist service for Bob on 3 March.  It will be posted on Facebook, and I'll post information here too.

According to Buddhist tradition, a soul's transition after death takes 49 days.  What is of Bob, drifting out there now, needs our support from many spiritual viewpoints.  I know he has it, of course; simply our thoughts of him provide comfort.  Lidke is going to send a photo down to the monastery in Atlanta, where they will meditate on Bobby's transition and keep a candle burning for him.
This means a lot to me.  I'm not a religious person, but if I am to lean in any particular direction it is far, far from the self-righteous evangelical "all other religions are wrong" bullshit speech given on Tuesday morning.  That was not representative of Bob--it wasn't even for Bob--and I think he would very much appreciate something more subtle, something less Haughty Bible Belt.  The Buddhist service should ring with him.

Tuesday meditation last night was dedicated in his honor.  A photo, a few candles, and a very small circle of people who, besides me, hardly knew him.  I stopped going to meditation over a year ago, because I was busy, and because I could rarely ever sink into it.  Last night I did--slipped right in (or out, as it were).  I think for a while I was in a sleep state, sitting there on the pillows, and it was deeply quieting, restful.

I think he hugged me.  I think--I felt him holding me, in a memory.
It was towards the end, after we had come out of silence and chanted and were reflecting on him, on the candlelight and the photo.  Out of a moment of mental quietude I had a memory of a hug, of the texture of his familiar coat on my cheek as I lay my face to his chest.  He was warm from the sun.  Gentle.  I like to think that he can hold me, at least for now, when I need him.

godfucking damnit NO