Flying Kitty

Warning: This post contains scenes of graphic animal violence. Be sure to alert the SPCA.

Today is a vacation day. I will spend my Sunday on a plane to Hotlanta, so today counts as a "Day in Lieu." Truth be told, I'm going to spend it getting my oil changed, doing laundry and such.

Nonetheless, today is a vacation day. And vacation days should mean sleep. Especially since I went out last night to celebrate the publication of My First Brochure. Over a year in the making, it's a very sweet piece of work and I'm wicked proud. So, libations were downed, nachos were chowed, and, yes, even drunken dialing occured. (Sorry Mr. Zips!) A good time was had by all. And I was really looking forward to a long night's sleep.

Unfortunately no one gave Fuzzy Kitty the memo.


6:35 a.m. Kitty starts meowing for breakfast

6:40 a.m. Kitty jumps up on bed and starts "nuzzing" momma

6:42 a.m. Kitty tries to crawl under covers because momma isn't paying attention to her

6:45 a.m. Kitty starts biting momma's hair

6:47 a.m. Momma groans and gets up, lopes into kitchen and puts food in bowls. Fuzzy Kitty commences eating. Lamby Kitty is nowhere to be found.

6:50 a.m. Momma is back in bed, happily drifting back to sleep

6:51 a.m. Fuzzy Kitty decides she's done eating and it's time to play

6:52 a.m. Fuzzy Kitty goes flying.

I trust that Kitty was not hurt. After all, clothes were piled all over the floor in preparation for laundry duty. Besides, don't cats always land on their feet?

I also know that Kitty is not mad at me. I know this because she's sitting on my lap right now, purring happily, chasing my fingers over my keyboard.

It's a good thing she's co-dependant, because this behavior against Kitty is, unfortunately, chronic on my part. Can those engineeers at MIT figure out some alarm clock that's heard - and understood - by Kitties, so that we can stop this cycle of violence? Please?

A Fallen Hero

I won't say Rest In Peace - because you didn't seem to want peace. You wanted to challenge conventions and challenge us to think.

But I will say you will be missed. Because, Kurt Vonnegut, you were one of a kind. Brilliant, wise, insightful, self-effacing, and utterly human. With all of the frailties and failings associated with being a bag of bones on this rotating ball of matter.

You were one of my heroes. And I will miss you.

My Painful Tootsies

I must admit that I am ashamed. Ashamed that my butt was kicked -- good and hard -- by my aerobics teacher.

Normally I wouldn't be ashamed to have a rough time in class. Wednesday is my "double night" - two classes back to a back for a total of an hour and 45 minutes. It's a tough regime on days when I'm feeling good. And today, not only am I tired and haven't been feeling well, but my feet hurt. (I am this close to actually being my Tante Emma who swore she could tell when a storm was coming because her arthritis acted up.)

So, it's not just that I had a tough class. It's that I had a tough class and had to take a lot of breaks even when my aerobics instructor held up strong and cheerful.

Again, normally, this would not be a big deal. But let me tell you this.

MY AEROBICS INSTRUCTOR IS 8 AND A HALF MONTHS PREGNANT.

The woman is huge. Well, no, she's tiny. But her belly is gi-freaken-normous. I can't imagine that she's still upright, much less doing front and side kicks that shame a former dance major. And doing it all with a smile.

I really hope that she gets paid really, really well.

Stuff and the Urge to Nest

A friend and co-blogger Sapphire Dakini sent me a link to an article today about a woman who is selling almost all of her possessions on eBay. The article got me to thinking about stuff -- why we think we need it and what that thinking means.

It's especially timely for me because I've spent the last week moaning about how - despite my recent (albeit paltry) raise - I am STILL broke. Yes, I keep telling myself the Universe always provides and I know that if I concentrate on the scarcity of money that I will have just that - scarcity of money. But I'm finding it hard to keep this correctly in perspective.

It's also especially timely for me because despite this fixation - ok, obsession - about money, all I really want in the world right now is a new couch.

I've had the couch I've got now for almost 10 years. It's comfortable but it's ugly. It's faded, stained, sunbleached and lumpy. The cushions refuse to be plumped. Even the slipcover I've gotten for it is ratty and tatty. The couch lived with me in Belmont, made the move to NH, and was my HQ in Northampton, since I had no room for a table, armchair, or any other furniture.

Now, I could easily go out and buy myself a new couch. It wouldn't put me that far behind in the credit card department and it would definitely make me happy.

But why?

Wouldn't I be happier being less insecure about stability? Wouldn't getting my basic needs covered and cared for be the wiser decision? Shouldn't the immaterial, the ethereal, be more fulfilling than the physical? And even though I recognize this, why am I still so damn tempted to give in to the baser desire? (Yes, I am still talking about a couch....)

I don't have answers for these contradictions. And for now anyway it's a moot point, since I've got no time to go couch shopping. But I do find it interesting that right now - at this particular point in my life - I'm feeling the need to surround myself with STUFF.

The Blah's

Today is Easter Sunday. Ooh bah. All this really means to me is that stores are closed and I've consumed too much chocolate for my own good lately.

But the rest of the world seems to be out, enjoying life and being joyous. And I'm just kind of feeling blah.

I think part of it was because there was no yoga this a.m. Class was cancelled and so I took advantage of the free time and slept in and cleaned the apartment. And even though I'm glad for the rest, it both messed up my usual schedule (oh, how we Earth types like our routines) and left me with lots of unspent nervous energy.

And, while my body was absolutely crying out for some downtime after 10 days without a rest, I've got the cloud of this upcoming stinking procedure hanging over my head. Not only will I not want to workout, I won't be allowed to workout. Okay, sure, the doctor won't know if I do or I don't, but my recovery will be a heckuva lot longer if I do. And that kinda defeats the purpose. So I've been trying to cram in extra exercise every which way I can.

So, instead of enjoying this beautiful day, I'm sitting here projecting and feeling cranky. Pretty dumb, huh?

Reminds me, rather, of a former priest at my old parish. Came out one Easter Sunday to give the sermon and basically trotted out a fire and brimstone lesson of how "it ain't all bunnies and baskets." Which is true in the long run, but sometimes it's best to focus on the bunnies and baskets and leave the future to itself.

Which, ironically, is the point of yoga.

Ooooh, I'm just too deep for my own damn good.

I'll shut up now.