I still don't feel normal yet. I think it's a combination of a very difficult loss and jet lag, which is a one-two that I strongly do not recommend. Add to this a completely full hard drive on the computer and an external drive that I bought yesterday that just completely stopped working an hour ago, and it's just all kinds of awesome around here.
This means that I've downloaded my photos in one strategic location where I can retrieve them so they're not lost, but this is not a convenient place at all for me to work with or share them. I really want and need to dig in, I have so much to do with this stuff, but I can't, really. I realize that these are all completely first world problems, nothing earth-shattering and if I wanted real trouble at this point I'd have to go dig a hole in the backyard instead of moseying down the hall to my cushy bathroom, but I'm just getting so sick and tired of logistical complications. It makes me want to stay in bed and eat jelly beans, which is not exactly lending my life the ass-kicking it needs.
I lack energy still, in spite of my best efforts, and I still have remnants of dizziness. Turns out two 24-hour journeys in 12 days, sandwiching ten days of really concentrated physical and mental work, will take a little bit out of a girl. I've gone to work twice and I've made it to school when I need to, which is pretty good. Last night I was awake until a ridiculous hour, because my brain got confused and I was all, "I HAVE TO STAY UP. So what if I'm completely and embarrassingly ineffective both now and tomorrow! I'll be awake! Go me!" Watching Craig Ferguson doesn't count as an accomplishment, btw.
What I did do yesterday because I thought I deserved it (lolhahaha) was buy some music. I crawled to the Girlyman show, which I cried a good bit of the way through because apparently control over my emotions departs when the lights go down and sweet people start singing songs about grandmas dying and people going away and everybody basically angsting all over the place (not a slam, love them, it's just a lot of it kind of deep music. It's not My Humps, put it that way.) Before that I went to Best Buy and bought the ill-fated hard drive (I KNEW not to buy Western Digital over the SeaGate. KNEW it. Suck it, Western Digital.) and got the new Raconteurs and Counting Crows records, plus the Juno soundtrack. Juno was one of three movies that I watched on the plane on the way to Seoul, because Korean Air has these great but totally OCD-inducing screens in the seat back in front of you, so you have access to not only about forty movies, but also full channels of music, a flight tracker with about ten different views of the world as it throttles beneath you and a number of computer games. They have remote controls (seriously!) that double as controllers, so I played Magma Melt for more hours there and back than I care to count, totally afraid the whole time I was risking a seizure. Big smooches to Korean Air and their authentic food with real utensils (Hi, I have the big spoon. Sorry.) and their in-flight entertainment. Tan samida, friends.
I had not seen Juno before and it was fantastic. It had me at "Honest to blog." I loved it, even though it made me hate Jason Bateman who I loved when country wasn't cool. Him as a stupid skeeze who digs pregnant 16 year olds and not just an oddly attractive smartass was just too much to bear. Oh, and also, make him a commitmentphobic cliche who plays the guitar while you're at it. Muchas gracias. That's so original. Airsickness. But the rest of the movie was awesome and I love the soundtrack in the same way I love Garden State's.
And I have absolutely no idea why I'm writing about this other than to write myself to sleep, which wasn't going so well before, but now that it's 3:30 it seems to be kicking in. But first I'll say thank you for the notes and comments and e-mails. I know I should be actively responding but I can't. First of all I don't have much to say, which is an unusual condition for me that's usually reserved for situations that affect me most deeply and hit me the hardest. I've been pleasantly surprised by the kindness people have shown, because losing a pet isn't something that affects everyone the same way. And I've learned good things and bad about people through this process, but until I get more used to not looking for his little face everywhere and the need to care for him throughout the day gets less close to the surface, there's not so much to say. It's just the process, it's the way it goes. I do not like it, not any bit of a thing about it, but I find that just sitting with it is helping me, and I'm sure it will continue to do that.
This is the last picture I took with him. I made him sit in front of the iSight before he left for the vet because that was when I didn't think he'd come back. And you know, I do take pictures of things.
We both look kind of tired and he didn't want shit to do with the computer, but I'm glad I did it. He was nothing if not well-documented. And also now I know why I waited on the tattoo. It'll be something along these lines, for sure. Smaller than most of them, of course.
These are actually better shots from a couple of days before. We both look happier, I think. And had he known he'd only be around for a couple more days, I swear he wouldn't have been trying QUITE so hard to look aloof. Poor little monkey.
Also, and changing the subject while I'm going through PhotoBooth, bangs. Still getting acclimated to them. I think I had this same look in high school, and looking at these pictures makes me want to talk like a one-eyed pirate, which isn't good for anyone, trust me.
Life goes on, ahoy.