So...I snapped. I threw her out the window. (Don't freak. It was into the backyard which is grassy and soft. She landed on all 4s and ran away) It felt strange. The house was quiet. Yet, I felt like I whacked off a member of the family all-Sopranos like. I felt guilty. I felt relieved. I still feel these things.
Don't hate me. There's the truth. Hopefully, I'm set free by it.(But I'm still telling my friends I gave her away...shhhh)
I spent my Labor Day sick in the bed, telling myself I was paralyzed and can only get up for bathroom emergencies.
Bedpans made so much sense.
I wrote 11 pages of my story. I like how its shaping up.
Nothing major happened.
Yesterday, the stepmother took pity on me and made me some chicken noodle soup. It was piping hot when I tripped up the stairs causing it to fall down the front of me *very sitcom-like*, burning my foot, parts of my leg, and my cheek. (You think it was cat karma)
She was actually gracious about it (:oO) made me another pot which made it safely upstairs. On my way to pick it up, the cat was there. Standing outside my door, meow-ing her head off. My mom was like.."wow she must smell your cat on you" I said, yea...she said, isn't that your cat. I said no. Its a stray. Closed the door behind us. By the time I got the soup and came back out, she was gone. I don't have anything of hers. I threw everything out. But, for a split second, I thought about it.I ate little soup, drank a little Nyquil and called it a day. There was silence. There wasn't a little squeaky toy ball, or running around, or incessant meowing for no reason. Just the sound of my heavy breathing.
Say what you want about me....that is priceless.