|
The morning, Meeko had one of his periodic hissy fits over the ceiling fan. Which was odd because the fan was off and had been off for sometime.
The first time in Meeko's life that we turned on the fan, he had a fit that went on for hours -- crying, circling the room, head wobbling along with the fan's motion. So week left it on continually until he got used to it. Then turning it off set him to whining. For a while, he seemed to have gotten used to it in all of its states.
I don't know what his problem is now. Perhaps he's noticing how dirty it is.
Who's to say. Cats are weird.
Comments
A good weekend to get my eyes dialated
I can't believe it's almost May and it's snowing. In protest of the weather, I refused to leave the house today. Yesterday wasn't better -- 40 and raining -- all in all a good day to get dialated at the eye doctor's.
I hate picking out glasses. I always feel like it's the biggest fashion choice I make. It's implications go on for years because I get get new glasses so infrequently. I also get really stuck on whatever I have, and have trouble seeing myself in something new. So picking glasses tends to take me a looong time.
Trackbacks
Trackback URL for this entry is: http://blog.case.edu/pls9/mt-tb.cgi/1125Comments
To Blog or Not To Blog
I think I was in JR hi when I announced to my mother that I was going to start a journal. "You better watch out!," she warned. "You sister's journal was stolen by some girls at school at they made fun of what she said in it."
I had not thought of taking it to school, but the message took. Journaling was dangerous, inner thoughts are dangerous.
Needless to say, I began immediately. But I did hold some fear discovery, and perhaps with good reason. My most prolific period of journaling was during collage. I kept them private, and the people in my life respected the privacy. When I shared them, people took what I gave them as the gift that was intended and didn't take it as an invitation to browse unvited. If anyone ever read them without permission, I never knew about it.
Except... Except... My boyfriend read my journals senior year and didn't like what he read. We fought, nearly broke up, should have broke up. And in pain and anger and spite, I destroyed all my jourals.
I regret very few things in life, but I regret destroying those journals. I miss those old journals. They were beautiful; collages on each cover.I should have just ditched the boyfriend, the subsequent breakup was inevitable. I was just too young and stupid to know it.
In retrospect, the boyfriends transgressions wasn't so much about journals being bad as it was about him wanting something I wasn't willing to give him. It was symbolic. There were lots of things he wanted from me, sometimes demanded of me, that I wasn't willing to give him. Like marriage, for example. The journal incedent was symptomative of a larger disease in our relationship.
As is par for the course for me these days, I'm just d@mn tired of being afraid of all the things my mother told me to fear. I'm tired of being afraid of painful events replaying in my life. I enjoy being able to keep up with what my friends are doing on their blogs. I've always had an impulse to write, if only for myself.
For me there is only the trying, the rest is not my business.
Trackbacks
Trackback URL for this entry is: http://blog.case.edu/pls9/mt-tb.cgi/1071Comments
Hey Trish,
I just checked out your blog...like the duckie! This is a new and foreign thing to me, blogs. The first blog I ever saw was Adrienne's, right after your and JE's wedding actually.
So sorry you destroyed your journals. I will have mine burned with my body in my funeral pyre...along with those of my dear friend Holly who has just bequethed me all of hers in the event that she passes before me.
I look forward to checking in with you, in the ether and in the flesh from time to time!
Yours,
Joan
Rubber Ducky, your the one
Fine! I finally have a blog. It took me a while to decide whether I wanted one. (We'll ignore that internal debate for now.) While I was debating, my procrastination exercise of choice was dithering over the design of my blog.
First, I played with designing my own. Then I got impatient and wasted time searching for the perfect, free, pre-made template.
So here it is. A rubber ducky theme.
So what's the significance of the rubber ducky, you ask?
My sister is 12 years older than me. Meaning she went off to college at the same time that I entered first grade. For years, her image of me was frozen in time. The joke was that, in her mind, I wasn't quite old enough for a rubber ducky. Not at 12. Not at 16. Not at 21.
She finally got me my first rubber ducky for my college graduation, forever cementing in my mind an association between rubber duckies and "commencements."
Thus commences the blog of Trish del Fish.
Trackbacks
Trackback URL for this entry is: http://blog.case.edu/pls9/mt-tb.cgi/1064Comments
LinkBlog (Powered by del.icio.us)