It's meeting night.

I'm glad. I need it. I'm feeling a little like my batteries are run down...kind of tired and glum for no real reason. It's Thursday, but not the lovely pay-day-eve kind of Thursday. And, my nose is all icky and snotty. Gross. The change in seasons that I was just writing about as so invigorating yesterday has actually come back to kick me in my ass today.

I woke up this morning in such a wonderful pile of love. I had my dog on my head, his dog on our feet, and his arms around me. It makes it hard to get up and leave. I did lots of belly-scratching and head-nuzzling of all my best beloveds before really getting up and starting the day.

He was kind of out of sorts last night. It's his second day working, now. I've not even wanted to write about him working, as I'm trying not to have any expectations about it lasting or not lasting. It's just what it is. He's trying. He's doing his best. We'll see what happens.

But he was tired, and grumpy, and needy, and weird and quiet in that special addicty way:

Love me! Give me space! Help me! Stop trying to control me! Rub my back! Don't touch me! Tell me what I should do! Stop bossing me around! Take a shower with me! Now go away! Make me dinner! That dinner is wrong! Let me clean the house for you! Stop cleaning the house! I don't want to clean the house!

That shit is impossible, and I'm learning that the only way I can deal with it is to go in another room and do my own thing. When he's out of sorts, I have to stay away...

It's a good life-lesson for me. At our 12 step writing workshop this weekend, someone mentioned how she finds herself drawn to folks who are having a hard time. When an acquaintance gets sick, she finds herself reaching out to that acquaintance in a way she wouldn't otherwise. I do this, too. I am drawn to sick, broken, upset people...which isn't always bad. Compassion isn't bad. Continually devoting myself to helping people who don't want help, though, is unhealthy. Constantly biting off more than I can chew is unhealthy. Operating a one-woman soul-repair shop isn't good for my own soul.

Hah.

The broken kitten.

Kitty is broken again. It's very sad. He's drugged like Daddy in the dark days. I think he will be ok. Kitty sometimes forgets that he's broken, and he starts trying to do acrobatic things like kitties do, and then he ends up all curled and tense and moaning in the corner, and we have to go to the kitty hospital.

My man was very helpful with kitty. I've spent a lot of time running back and forth with such errands alone, and it was so wonderful to have help. It kept me from getting all crazy about how kitty is broken and how one day kitty will die and unleashing that whole horrible projecting beast.

We spent the evening after returning home from the kitty emergency room playing with Mod Podge. It's not so fun to play with him, as he is much better than me at arts and crafts, but that's ok. Maybe I will challenge him to a sonnet write-off. I suspect he doesn't know that we're in a competition, and that he's presently winning.

And I wrote some. And I checked on kitty, and we talked a lot. It's been a beautiful day. And now I'm tired.