lapis_lazuli022

It took me a few days to snap back from the trauma of dealing with a dead pet. I have a lot to say about it, about how I discovered her and what I did for her and how that trauma manifested and how I coped with it. I suspect it's a bit much for the squeamish, though, and since after a week of thinking about it constantly I still haven't been able to figure out what level of internal editing and censorship is called for in writing about it, I've opted not to say anything at all.

I've always been highly attuned to milestones and anniversaries, especially recent ones. I'll come back from a trip, or something momentous will have happened, and as I process it and integrate it, I'll be constantly thinking about where I was at this time yesterday, or this time last week.

I'm glad I'm not where I was at this time last week. I was fidgeting in my seat, thinking more and more about it all, the more I tried not to. I was anxious and upset over what I might find when I got home, and even up to the moment when I turned my key in the lock, I wasn't sure which outcome I was hoping for -- to find her still holding on, or already having let go.

I honestly don't know where I'll be or what I'll be doing at this time tomorrow. At this time next week, though, I will be in Atlanta, frolicking and making trouble with