From Kitty Porn To The Pit of Despair

[OK, so I seem to be in slightly better with the Cat Hedwick. (No, this is not becoming a cat blog.) Last night, after a rough few hours outside in the cold, I washed up at F.o.M.'s fabulously HEATED apartment, checked H.'s bowl, and gave him some more crunchies. He's the only cat I've ever met who never eats wet food or people scraps... just the dry stuff, and not much of that. I need to go on the Hedwick Diet.]

[As I walked down the hall toward a date with a thick comforter and the last C.D. Payne book, I saw H. walk cautiously down the hall. I slowly sank into a squat, and let him come to me. He's got lovely silver-gray fur all over except for a hollow circlet of white that surrounds his nose like a jet trail. I reached out gently and scratched his head, and he butted the back my hand with his nose. More. OK.]

[Wow. Did that read like porn, or is it just me?]

[At some point in the middle of the night, I awoke and saw a little gray figure perching with its front legs on the mattress, its hind ones on the floor? O HAI! MAYBE WE SHARE BED? I reached too quickly, and startled the beast into hiding under the bed instead. KTHXBAI! Ah, well.]

[About those rough hours in the cold. I never made it to see The Apartment as planned. I left the house about 3:30, walked over to Divisadero, bought the newest Buffy comic (it's weird to be collecting comics for the first time since the early 80s), and grabbed a 24 bus to the Castro. I was only wearing a hoodie, and was starting to get chilled.]

[I went to the Starbucks on 18th, got a jumbo green tea, and read. Sean called to flake as I'd half expected him to do, and suddenly felt like the tea was doing no good. I realized that I was no mood for a movie, not to mention a comedy, so I decided to head back to F.o.M.'s. I started the long journey Russian Hill-ward, thinking I might grab dinner in North Beach first. By the time I got off at Powell and navigated the throngs of holiday shoppers at Union Square, I was angry and miserable and So. Fucking. Cold. I did what I always do when I go just a little crazy: I started cursing the people in my life with whom I have issues, medium-big or small. (I have no big issues with anyone, not really.)] Projection, of course, and my third eye kept trying to distract me with its steady, slightly supercilious gaze, but had little success.]

[I huddled in front of the Stockton Tunnel's gaping, windy maw, waiting for a bus, hood over my head, and... no, I didn't cry, but I wanted to. After what seemed like an epoch, a 45 came by, picked me and half of Chinatown up, and I made it back to F.o.M.'s. Cat H. greeted me, and my soul began to thaw. Dropped off the reading material, and figuring the novel and the comforter could wait, went out in search for dinner. Walked along Hyde Street, having another nostalgia shot (a good one this time), and made it down to Pancho's taqueria for what is one of two of the best bowls of chicken soup in the city. (The other is the pho at that one Chinese/Viet place at Mission and South Van Ness.)]

[After getting outside gorgeous slabs of slow-cooked, shredded chicken breast, potatoes, rice, carrots, salsa verde and wonderful, miraculous broth, I rolled out of Pancho's feeling quite human again. I couldn't believe how different the world seemed, and wanted to know why my mood had plummeted so hard. I didn't feel hungry beforehand, nor particularly lonely, and I read in the paper today that temps were only about five degrees below normal last night. But the world was utterly, frigidly black to me.]

[It was a real thing, and I'm getting tired of it recurring. So are my friends. I've taken some concrete steps to improve my life this year, and I think it's time for another one. This is not me.]

[Geez, from kitty porn to the pit of despair. And how are your holidays shaping up?]

Previously Next

[Later: Maybe if I'd taken Sam's advice and watched this before leaving Maison le Trou, I wouldn't have been so S.A.D.]