Pandora still hasn’t had her kittens.
My cat is huge. My cat is miserable. I’m beginning to think she may be the only cat in the history of cats that’ll never drop them, but rather carry adult cats around inside her. It’s as if her little, swollen body has said, “Nope! Ain’t gonna do it! Ain’t gonna happen! Birth seems like it could be really painful, so…nope, not this body!” She’s at the point now where’s she’s dragging base on the ground, is listless most of the time, and has chosen to lay right in the path of the bathroom so we have to step over her. I have no idea what that is about, unless it’s her way of screaming at us, “See…I’m still fucking pregnant, and am making sure none of you half-wits forgets about me!”
Lucretia and the kittens are doing well. Of course, their little eyes aren’t opened yet, but they’re definitely more active, and have learned in the last several days how to fight for teet. I almost feel sorry for Lucretia—notice I said almost—when she lays there looking at me while they’re crawling all over her, as if to say “Motherhood sucks already!” And I shamelessly admit, I have probably antagonized the situation a bit myself. Every once in a while I catch her when she creeps from her cage and I know that they must all be asleep. She wanders a bit, stretches her legs, appears to be getting a well-needed break, so I rush in and wake them up. Once she hears them she walks back in and I swear gives me a crusty look like, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea how hard it is to get all five asleep?” I have a momentary lapse of sanity where I’m like the mad doctor wringing his hands and laughing hysterically, “Yeah, how much does that suck? You know what really sucks? Cats that make you trip while your trying to walk. Cats that are spoiled and constantly hungry. Cats that scratch the litter out of the box. Cat’s that think my eight hundred dollar couch is a scratching post. Cats that crawl on my counters and knock shit off, and I have to pick it up. Now that’s what really sucks! How’s it feel? How’s it feel? Na-na-na-na-na!” Yeah, I know…they have medication for this, huh?
Argghhh! I am so bored I could scream! Given that it’s only 7:46 in the morning, I hope that’s not an omen for how the rest of my day is going to go. We got a reprieve from the heat, but now it’s wet and gloomy out. I’m showing signs of Spring fever and am really antsy. You’d think I’d be used to it by now being cooped up in this house for the last three years, but I’m not; it’s just getting worse. During the winter it’s easier to convince myself that I’m supposed to be inside, because everyone is hibernating. Come Spring though, it’s a completely different story. I start to think about everyone out riding their scoots, partying together, hanging out on Friday nights at the bar with friends, boating on the weekends, attending concerts, swap meets, etc. I start to remember the full life I had prior to this empty one and this feeling squirms in me like a parasite and makes living the life I have difficult.
Why do I have to choose between my husband and having a life? That’s what I want to know. Other wives don’t. Other husbands don’t expect them to. Why me? I know many would think if that’s the case then choose the life. I mean, fuck him! Who does he think he is to take away your freedom and happiness? I wish the decision were that easy. If he were abusive it would be. He’s not. He’s actually a really good guy, and we’ve adapted well into a life together. For the most part we’re happy, so why do I have to choose? Why? Because he’s insecure, that’s why. He’s afraid that bar, those people, my old friends and life, are going to steal me away from him. The only way he can ensure that won’t happen is to keep me tied to this house. I had no idea before how suffocating love could actually be.
I just need a break. I need a break from worrying about what needs to be done, and who needs to be taken care of. I need a break from the cats, the dogs, the kid, and the hubby. I just want to have some fun. Is that so terrible? My kid has tried to convince me I’m too old to have fun. I am? When does someone get too old to have fun? When does someone get too old to enjoy life? As far as I know that only happens when you’re dead, right? I don’t plan to be dead for a while. I can still kick my limber leg over the back of the bike. I can still shoot a mean game of eight-ball (well, liquor helps). I can still fit my ass in a bathing suit and go swimming. I can still do a lot of things. It seems to me that the only disability I have is my husband and son who think my life should revolve around theirs, and in order for it to do that I have to be sitting here waiting for them to need me 24/7. Case in point: My husband came home last night from work. We’d planned to grill out, but he didn’t seem to be in any real hurry, and sat down on the couch and started dozing off (he gets up at four am so that’s to be expected). Okay, so I get up and go sit at the computer to check my emails. Once he starts hearing me typing he’s wide a wake and tells me he’s going to start the grill, which is my cue to get off my ass and gets some sides going. Wanna know why? He hates it when my attention is diverted away from him. You can laugh and don’t have to believe me, but it’s the truth. I can sit here for hours doing nothing and neither him nor the kid will have nil to say to me, but the moment I get on this computer or am…God forbid…on the phone with someone, it’s twenty questions, I’m needed to look at something, or needed to do this or that. It’s truly as if they can’t stand the thought that my life is not preoccupied by theirs.
Eh, I’m just bitching. I’m bored and feeling sorry for myself. I have to do that once in a while, because if I don’t know one will. There’s no rest for the weary and wicked, and definitely no sympathy round here. Hey, if any of you are going out tonight have a drink and a little fun for me! I can live vicariously if I have to. I’ve seen me do it! Just make sure the details tomorrow are spicy!! 😉