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About: Late-twenties Chicago cat lady rides bike, complains.
I could write something vaguely melancholy about how there was a shattered pink toilet in the alley this morning or I could sigh verbally about the student performance appraisals I have to fill out or I could just show you Hilda hanging out with some flowers on the dining room table this morning, soaking up sun and not worrying about the future. 

Earlier my supervisor emailed me to say she was canceling our meeting because she had to take her cat to the vet and it was all I could do not to respond with “I didn’t know you had a cat! What’s its name? Tell me about it! Cats hate the vet!” to which I would follow with tales of Hilda’s vet misadventures. Instead I said “I hope your cat feels better!” and left it at that because not everyone is a crazy cat lady who arranges vases of flowers around a beast for the sake of social media.

I could write something vaguely melancholy about how there was a shattered pink toilet in the alley this morning or I could sigh verbally about the student performance appraisals I have to fill out or I could just show you Hilda hanging out with some flowers on the dining room table this morning, soaking up sun and not worrying about the future.

Earlier my supervisor emailed me to say she was canceling our meeting because she had to take her cat to the vet and it was all I could do not to respond with “I didn’t know you had a cat! What’s its name? Tell me about it! Cats hate the vet!” to which I would follow with tales of Hilda’s vet misadventures. Instead I said “I hope your cat feels better!” and left it at that because not everyone is a crazy cat lady who arranges vases of flowers around a beast for the sake of social media.

I could write something vaguely melancholy about how there was a shattered pink toilet in the alley this morning or I could sigh verbally about the student performance appraisals I have to fill out or I could just show you Hilda hanging out with some flowers on the dining room table this morning, soaking up sun and not worrying about the future. 

Earlier my supervisor emailed me to say she was canceling our meeting because she had to take her cat to the vet and it was all I could do not to respond with “I didn’t know you had a cat! What’s its name? Tell me about it! Cats hate the vet!” to which I would follow with tales of Hilda’s vet misadventures. Instead I said “I hope your cat feels better!” and left it at that because not everyone is a crazy cat lady who arranges vases of flowers around a beast for the sake of social media.

I could write something vaguely melancholy about how there was a shattered pink toilet in the alley this morning or I could sigh verbally about the student performance appraisals I have to fill out or I could just show you Hilda hanging out with some flowers on the dining room table this morning, soaking up sun and not worrying about the future.

Earlier my supervisor emailed me to say she was canceling our meeting because she had to take her cat to the vet and it was all I could do not to respond with “I didn’t know you had a cat! What’s its name? Tell me about it! Cats hate the vet!” to which I would follow with tales of Hilda’s vet misadventures. Instead I said “I hope your cat feels better!” and left it at that because not everyone is a crazy cat lady who arranges vases of flowers around a beast for the sake of social media.

Easter Brunch 2014, all photos stolen from Bobby.

Holy Thursday

This morning on the way to work a man was dance fighting with himself on the corner of Fullerton and Kimball, jumping just enough into the road to make me nervous, darting back out. I don’t know what he was doing.

The only reason I came into work today was for a meeting that it turned out was not happening and that I didn’t figure out was not happening until I sat alone in a conference room for ten minutes before sheepishly walking out.

And so I will leave at noon and try to find a butter shaped like a lamb for Sunday’s brunch. I don’t even know exactly what we will put butter on— I am making a ham, which requires no butter. Last night Cyndi and made thirteen jars of pickles, which seems excessive and is excessive, but they will be so good in bloody Marys and so good in general, and they will even be worth the jalapeno I got in my eye making them though maybe not of the dried yogurt that I picked out of my eyelashes this morning.

best date night

1. fancy pizza

2. read books in bed together for hours, legs all tangled to make enough space not to disturb a sleeping cat

3:00 a.m.

The problem with cat ownership is that at any fluttering awake during the night Hilda will leap up from the bottom of my bed and climb all over me, butting her furry head into my face and making her hungry meow, which is unfortunately the most squawk-like of all meows, and then I will be wide awake at three o’clock in the morning writing really long sentences on the internet and mourning the loss of any gains and/or pride I had about getting to bed before midnight.

Mike says that stay-at-home cat-mom is not a viable back up career option but look at this face.

Mike says that stay-at-home cat-mom is not a viable back up career option but look at this face.

problems I am currently having
  • Four of my students have the same first name and I cannot remember which is which when I look at my roster without looking at my case notes
  • They turned off the heat in my office, I think, meaning that I am hunched at my desk wearing a big sweater and a hat and looking like a real doofus
  • The day that I am trying to start eating better is the day that Ed invited me to ride bikes to the Tastee Freez (I mean, whatever, it is fine, this is not so much a problem so much as the ongoing saga of bodies and feelings and being a lady and whatever else)
  • I got a personalized rejection letter today and don’t know how to feel about it, or if it is actually personalized, or what that means, or why I would get a lovely but awkward letter wishing me well from the director of a department that did not even interview me but clearly did read my application?
  • I have applied to thirty jobs and have gotten zero interviews despite having a really strong resume and several years of experience and an almost-Masters degree and am going to starve and die, which at least that way no one will have to pay for my student loans, so that’s cool
signs of spring

- Desire for and execution of potato salad

- Large-wheeled car playing very loud reggaeton, the sort of loud that I could feel on my bicycle when it passed me

- The Unique Thrift no longer has a sweater section

It is early, or it feels early, and I am on the first off-peak metro north out of New Haven on a train that makes more stops than I want to but hey, a five dollar savings and who am I kidding, I like this train ride.

The conductor has two six inch braids in his beard, one at each corner of his mouth, and the train is not crowded. It is not early by commuter standards, only by mine. 

I spent the night at my parents’ house last night, and this morning my father woke me before my alarm, which is a thing I knew would happen and made me grumpy but also relieved. I have only spent five or so nights at my parents’ in the past two years, and it is good to know how things are, the constants, even if it is only my father’s incredulity that it does not take me an hour to get out of the house. 

But I got to the train station an unprecedented more than a half hour early, which left plenty of time to buy coffee and take an artsy ceiling and nostril shot, so there you go, good morning.

It is early, or it feels early, and I am on the first off-peak metro north out of New Haven on a train that makes more stops than I want to but hey, a five dollar savings and who am I kidding, I like this train ride.

The conductor has two six inch braids in his beard, one at each corner of his mouth, and the train is not crowded. It is not early by commuter standards, only by mine.

I spent the night at my parents’ house last night, and this morning my father woke me before my alarm, which is a thing I knew would happen and made me grumpy but also relieved. I have only spent five or so nights at my parents’ in the past two years, and it is good to know how things are, the constants, even if it is only my father’s incredulity that it does not take me an hour to get out of the house.

But I got to the train station an unprecedented more than a half hour early, which left plenty of time to buy coffee and take an artsy ceiling and nostril shot, so there you go, good morning.

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