I had planned to go into the office today, but I am too sad to play dodge ball. I feel guilty, but really, I’m making things easier for my co-workers – as evidenced by a conversation I had yesterday, it is incredibly awkward to have a documentation-related discussion while one person is visibly crying yet attempting to talk shop.
*sniffle* So, I think that if we remove section 3 and replace it with section <wipe away tears> 14, the overall process flow *voice breaks* will make more sense to the end user *sob*
I’m actually being productive at home. I had to bribe someone with candy and give him my pornographic password so he could email me a couple of files, but if I get next week’s deadline started, I’ll feel better about not being there.
iTunes is keeping me company, but it’s an uphill battle. I can’t listen to anything remotely sad or melancholy because it makes me burst into tears. I’ve told the Genius Playlist to only play upbeat songs, but that apparently limits my options to Big Dumb Sex by Soundgarden and a few choice songs I am too embarrassed to name here. It’s sort of working – it’s hard to cry along to a peppy dance beat and songs about disco sticks.
Okay, not really, but picturing what I must look like from the outside – crying and involuntarily chair-dancing at the same time – is kind of hilarious.
It’s funny – in times of great heartache, I always think the same thing: I want my mom. I absolutely don’t understand this, because my mother has never been any source of comfort for me – she’s actually pretty scary. If I called her up and sobbed my current agony to her, be it the loss of my best friend or a fight with Ed, she wouldn’t exactly open her arms and let me cry out my pain. She would ramble something inappropriate, offer me some chicken, then maybe buy me shoes. Worse, she would try to justify it (whatever “it” is) and that would make me explode. So why do I always want my mother in times of sorrow? It’s weird. Maybe I just want someone authoritative to hug me and tell me everything will be okay; to take care of me and let me do what I need to do – someone who is removed from the thing causing my grief. Yeah, that’s it. It’s one thing to grieve together, but sometimes you just need outsider love.
I am so clear and concise; it is obvious why I am such a successful tech writer.
So, after I get over the whole “why do I want my mom? My mom scares me” thing, my thoughts turn to my second default grief reaction: memorial tattoo! I should totally get a memorial tattoo!
I haven’t decided this one yet, but the thoughts are there.
Kinda funny.
Funny like this porn star cookie I’m eating.
delicious juice dot com 
My sister had her first dog for 17 years or so and before she died she got an ink stamp of her paw and turned that into a tattoo on her leg.. turned out pretty good.
It will be OK. (Authoritative hug)
Also, damn, take that first photo on Sasha’s page with her stickin’ her little tongue out to a good tattoo artist, and get them to turn it into a tattoo. That would be THE BOMB. When Pearl died I just found a cute and very characteristic picture of her and blew it up and got it framed. A tattoo is a whole new level of memorialization that I didn’t even think of.
No tattoo’s for me. My body’s a temple (albeit poorly maintained and in a state of collapse.) When my dog died, I made and framed a photo montage of her. I found it a great way to remember the time we had.
Oh, and if you need any more files from work… I can be bribed.
(And yes, the apostrophe is there in “tattoo’s” to drive you nuts. ;)
We do have contacts if you wanted to get a nice quality enlargement :) We should give it some time, but I’d be open to the idea.
The silly tongue pic and the angry meow pic that Josh took would be my two choices. There’s a certain juxtaposition between the two that makes me laugh.
Hey Kimli I am so sorry about Sasha, I know how hard it is to lose your family. As I told you when you were about 17 years old if you ever needed a mom I would be here for you. The offer still stands, I have big shoulders to cry on and I don’t mind wiping snotty noses too. Love to you, Ed and the other cats.
Skip the memorial tattoo please. Chances are you’re going to outlive a lot of cats and you only have a finite amount of tattoo ‘canvas’. My father was buried with ‘Mary’ tattooed on his arm. My mother’s name was Lorene. I know tats are ‘way in’ but not with me. I’m clinging to my inner geezer.
She wouldn’t be doing the tattoo for anyone but herself, so advice isn’t really needed, tbh. The parallel you draw isn’t relevant at all, either. Sasha was THE cat, and always will be.