You have 30 minutes.

What do you do? Not enough parameters? Tough! You have thirty minutes of ‘free’ time, that’s it. Free meaning all your responsibilities and chores (whathaveyous) have been handled and you have exactly thirty idle minutes before something else must be done. Me? Oh, I’m blogging.

My amazingly awesome daughter, who is awesome and amazing, likes to punctuate her fantabulosity by not eating (from me) during the day. This is not to say she is not hungry, or anything. She was born starving, and will play catch up as long as she likes, thankyouverymuch. No, she just doesn’t like my boobs when there is daylight out. Like some impossibly adorable milk vampire, with her sweet yet freakishly long fingers ’round my neck. This means I spend every 1-1.5 hours with a hand pump attached to my left boob, then, my right. And let me tell you, my tits are in an uproar. That’s right. TITS. Not only are they getting the full experience and action-packed adventure of breastfeeding, they also get to moonlight as one of the ‘Exclusively Pumping’ crowd during the day. As a result, there are at least 4 plugged ducts in one and 2 in the other. I checked. I got my boobs early, and never really expected them to have a day job. I find myself frantically undressing my top half, face flushed and saying things like, ‘Just you wait. Mama’s got something for you!’, but without the innuendo such utterances previously had…. in my former life.

In addition to boobs, there is life and death to consider. My cat, my best friend, my first life to sustain, is dying. It started in August, and I feel she no longer recognizes me or her surroundings. At best, she spends her days terrified and, when I turn away for a second, running off to hide in a corner — but not before smashing into walls or falling on her right side. The vet is proclaiming ‘ear infection’ with every last ounce of his two-year training, and telling me to visit a specialist, with whom I can sink into the thousands-plus abyss of ‘nothing we can do’. I have decided to end her misery, but have to delegate the making of the appointment and talking to doctors to my husband. I am incapable of sustaining the bombardment of, ‘there must be something else we can do’ from these people. I will believe them until my baby isn’t wearing socks and eats dirt for breakfast, such is the love I have for that cat. I mean, we’ve already scaled our own lives so far back that I am rapidly losing weight again which is bad news for a breastfeeding mother.

Life is here, without much warning. I’d like to take advantage of the eyes you’re supplying and repost a poem I wrote as a result of the most trivial of trivial occurrences in my life two years ago:

one day, like any other

i guess today
is the day of
roulette spins and
half-hearted wins;

a lifetime supply of
what
you don’t want,
anyway.

today is the day
of here’s what you
get, and you don’t
know it,

yet. so hang tight
to your number
and pray.

even if the plea
falls on an ear
it isn’t your fault,
you’re in the clear

and tomorrow,
they’ll gnaw on
your
soul instead.

today is the day
you get what
you’re rolled and,

sink or swim,
you have to pay.

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4 comments

  1. dunno how I’m doing, really. Mostly because there isn’t time to process. There probably won’t be time to grieve, either. I will have to set aside that time at, like, two am — heh.

  2. How old is kitty? It isn’t cat vestibular syndrome, is it? Do her eyes flicker? When Maybelline got old, she had DVS, it was exremely frightening, but eventually self-corrected with the help of antibiotics in case the underlying cause was infection. Her eyes flickered, she walked in circles, crashed into walls, fell over, etc. It happens in old dogs and cats, something in the inner ear goes out of whack and they get dizzy and disoriented, frightening for everyone concerned.

  3. 30 minutes from which your are

    A dizzy Cat, to a dazzling star

    I am all in on big red eight.

    cause fuck this thing called

    feyt.


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