January 13, 2015 § Leave a comment
Sometimes when I’m standing around eating old Christmas candy, saying, It’s going to be different! I think about my cat, who likes to dig and scratch at her litterbox after she poops. Doesn’t she realize it’s a hard plastic tub? She isn’t digging anything — no progress at all.
If you’re wondering, it’s the Sisyphean behavior that seems similar. This story wasn’t about how the old Christmas candy is like cat turds.
I have an unhealthy relationship with Max, the feature-creature on Netflix that tries to make recommendations to me. He’s never succeeded. And now when I bring him up he gets defensive and critical, and honestly it’s like I have a second boyfriend who is manipulative. I just ignore him now — that’s the closest I can get to dumping his fucking ass — but a friend came over and wanted to see him, and so I fired him up.
Right away, he flung some shit about how long it’s been since I last saw him. Then he asked me if I trusted him. Well isn’t this a little test! Drama and games. The truth is I don’t trust him, but I said yes, just like if we were having a fight in front of friends. So he just started a movie, right then, no questions asked. It was “Inventing the Abbotts,” which maybe I’ll want to see one day in 2023 when I’ve run out of everything else on my list.
I felt so bad stopping the movie. But then I realized he was a software program. I still want to read “The Gift of Fear.”
Today I rang the treat bag to see where my cat was. Sometimes I get these panics about her. I know I’ll be one of those moms that checks to see if the baby’s breathing every minute or so. I didn’t hear anything so I ramped it up and started shaking the bag really hard. Then I heard her frantically scratching her litter box in the basement.
I felt terrible, making her rush like that. No one likes to rush when they’re on the pot. I gave her three treats out of guilt.