Bleeding and covered in paint

It is 10 o'clock and I am bound for bed so I can get up at the crack of dawn (actually well before dawn even thinks of cracking) and put in a few hours of work so I can spend the remainder of the day with the Bumble Bean.  This evening I tried very hard to get through my list of all the things I need to do to be ready for Christmas.  I tried very hard to give a damn about Christmas and my list. 

I added "taste test Lemon Drop Martini recipes" so I could cross it off the list because I was going to do that while I "made shopping list for Christmas food."  While attempting to open the nip of Limoncello, I cut up my hand, but no matter, the alcohol content of  the martini soon made everything better.

I decided to cross off the entry for "wrap Christmas presents" because the Big Bad Bean is right that it is a shameful waste of resources...including my time.  The Bumble Bean's presents are in plastic grocery bags inside a huge box.  Works for me.  And I know he won't care.

Then, even though it wasn't on the list and I was too lazy to add it just to cross it off again, I decided that I would paint the little wooden hinged snake I got the Bumble "just because" not for Christmas.  With two tiny tiny containers of paint and a brush the size of a toothpick, I managed to get it all over my hands and some on face.  Some spark of brilliance, possibly due to the taste testing, led me to paint both the top and the bottom of the snake.  I'm hoping it will not permanently adhere to the table as it dries. 

"Send Christmas email invitation" will have to wait for tomorrow so my recent insanity paired with the dutiful recipe-tasting doesn't cause me to make some incredibly stupid and embarrassing error in the email, like the wrong date for Christmas or the wrong address.  Considering  the frequency with which I make these kinds of mistakes, you'd think I wouldn't bother to feel embarrassed any more.  Perhaps I'll add that to the list so I can keep crossing it off: "practice not feeling embarrassed when doing stupid things."

Felix the Fractal Faced Bug

A friend of mine, who I don't know nearly as well as I would like to, recently wrote to tell me that she is away on an extended basis because her mother has been diagnosed with cancer.  I don't know how to respond to that.  Do I tell her that my Mom died of cancer?  Do I tell her how I felt when my Mom was diagnosed?  I wanted to fight...absolutely everyone...and though I like to think I have grown since then, I still feel my fists curling and rage welling and tears spilling, wanting to punch the doctors and nurses and social workers and second husband who just handed in their dicks at the door and gave up since it was cancer and there was nothing left to do really except to make sure that whatever time she had left was as unpleasant and humiliating as possible.

Somehow that doesn't seem terribly supportive.

On the other hand, I would feel like a fraud if I were to say something along the lines that it's great that they caught it early! It's great that it's post menopause breast cancer, the best cancer to have after prostate (which she isn't qualified for) and colon!  Because of course it's cancer and cancer kills.  Unless you die of something else first.

So this is what I have instead:
Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a beetle named Felix.  Felix was a very special sort of beetle because he had a very special mouth: it was infinitely large.  This is not a nice way of saying that Felix was loud, because he wasn't loud.   He was very quiet.  He was very quiet because he did not dare to open his mouth.  When your mouth is infinitely large, you must be very careful to make sure you don't swallow the world.  Poor Felix.

Berg, the non-epitaph

The Berg kitty almost died this morning.  While he was trying very hard to choke himself to death on a piece of plastic pilfered from the trash, I realized that while I can't ever define what exactly it is that he adds to our lives, I would be sorry if he died.  It would be appropriate if he died due to his own plastic munching stupidity.  I wouldn't be sorry to lose the vomiting or the tripping me up to get more food once he has hurled on the Bean's toys or even the truly aggravating way he has of attacking my feet when I have any kind of Traditional Chinese Medicine on them.  I wouldn't miss him drooling on me or "petting" me with all claws extended.  I wouldn't miss him darting through any door that opens (this includes the oven!) or the way he eats any plastic we leave around, including the shower curtain.

Hmm.  What would I miss?  I would miss his fuzzy goofy soppiness and his habit of sitting on the crack of the freezer door so he falls out when I go to get ice.  I would miss him carrying the bean's toys around in his mouth and singing at great volume.  I would miss booting him from the changing table when it's time to change the Bean.  I would miss the way he chews on his feet when he has been around catnip.  He actually is quite a nice lap kitty if you can convince him to settle down, not be all wiggly and ecstatic, and not drool on you.  He'd be an even nicer lap kitty if he would groom himself from time to time.

Anyhoo, what ever he adds to my life I would miss it if he died, so I'm glad he didn't choke to death this morning before I had even had my coffee.  Now I just hope that the bloody groove he made in his esophagus doesn't get infected.