I was supposed to go out drinking tonight. My friend whose husband has left for training to prepare to ship out for Iraq invited me out for a drinky-poo or three a couple evenings ago. However, she neither called nor emailed me to confirm, and so here I sit, alone on a Friday night with a grumpy baby. Kurt’s gone out to see the new Transformers movie, you see.
It’s probably for the best, though thinking about it more, now I miss him. He’s got to work tomorrow morning, you see. Yes, it’s a Saturday, and no, we don’t get any kind of compensation. His bosses are worried about the students not passing their finals, so they decided it would make sense to force the instructors to work on the weekend. How it’s going to help, I don’t know. If the students had been studying all along, they wouldn’t be in this situation. But they haven’t been, and now they’re worried about passing. All these guys went to college, so I have no idea where they got the idea that they don’t have to study to pass a course.
But then what do I know? I’m “just” a wife.
I’m not doing well today anyhow. It started yesterday when my computer locked up. It’d been doing it on and off the last couple of days, but it came to a head last night when it wouldn’t start up without locking up. I started freaking out to the point of being physically ill as Kurt attempted to fix it. I tried to go back to a restore point, but the computer locked up during that process and eventually blue-screened. It ran a check-disk after restarting which fixed a whole lot of bad files, and once it loaded I disabled Windows Defender, as that was the last thing to get an automatic update. I have spyware installed anyhow; I don’t need a buggy Microsoft program to do it for me. Since then it’s been working fine (knock on wood), though every hiccup makes me nervous all over again. I know it’s just a computer, and I have all the data off it that I need, but it’s still frustrating. I just wish my body would realize that it’s fine, that I don’t have to go into panic-attack mode.
These are the days I wish I had a prescription for Xanax. Seriously. I’m sick of this stressing me out to this degree.
My day got worse when Kurt came home for lunch and it was time to say goodbye to Koolit. Of course I busted out crying, petting him and scratching his head, trying to convey to him how much I really loved him, and how much I didn’t really want to let him go. I just hope he understood. I know it’s for the best, I know we couldn’t do anything for him, but the house feels so empty now. All day long I’ve had one ear cocked, waiting for the jangle of his tags as he shakes his head. Not hearing him sigh in his sleep as he curls up against my feet is odd. Not watching to see if he needs to go out or seeing him pace through the living room, looking for something he’s not even sure of, feels so strange.
But I know it was time. I know he didn’t have a good quality of life. I know he was tired of smelling like urine, of not being able to stand to eat his food or drink his water. I know he missed jumping up on the bed with me to curl up and catch a few more z’s before I finally rolled out of bed to start the day.
He was my constant companion, my very first baby. He was there when I had no one when I first moved to Washington, when I was alone and knew no one else. He protected me and kept me warm on the long, cold, winter nights when Kurt had duty or was out to sea. He was gentle with Grace and then with Mary Ellen, somehow realizing that they’re baby humans that needed to be handled carefully. He’s been a part of our family since before we were even a family. We brought him home just a month after Kurt and I became a couple. He was the very first thing that was ours together.
And now he’s gone.
But he’s in a better place, and I know I’ve given him an amazing gift. Last night we took his paw prints so we would always have something to remember him by. I printed out a cute photo of him, and the plaque now stands on my sewing table where I can see it whenever I like. It helps.
The day grew even darker right around the time Kurt texted me to tell me Koolit had gone to his final sleep. It was right around then that Beanie IMed me to tell me about our dear friend Cosmic. I was fortunate enough to be a part of the great ficus tree delivery last winter to Cosmic, which allowed me to meet that wonderful lady myself. I was worried that she would find it odd to have a strange girl show up on her doorstep with her family, but Cosmic welcomed me in with open arms. (The homemade cookies might have helped.) Grace danced round and round with Terry, and wanted to be his little helper with every little chore. Her laughter and her willingness to see the lighter side of everything was so refreshing. I only got to know a tiny part of her that afternoon, but I always looked forward to going back and spending more time with her. It looks as though I won’t be getting that opportunity.
I don’t want to say much about the Michael Jackson thing. I must be the only person in the world that wasn’t obsessed by him, but I did think he was pretty cool. Even then I was more into rock than pop. I have to say I agree most everything that Pischina wrote in this post, and she’s hit the nail square on the head. The King of Pop, the Michael Jackson we all knew and loved and admired, died fifteen years ago. It was just a shell that’s been walking among us ever since.
I can’t wait to put this week behind me.