Breaking out of orbit

It can be tough being a blogger, sometimes, having to balance the desire to vent or simply to discuss some element of human experience, with the need to have some semblance of a private life. To occasionally just draw the veil down when it needs to go down.

This is one of those latter times, and I'm sure if you've been peeking at the pickles (aka tweets) you've gathered there is something distressing going on in the boy department.

Well, I am closing up shop on that department, as of now. I may at some point reopen the subject of boys in general, or of other boys, or even of saying something about the boy to whom I've been referring the last few months, but for now, that subject is closed. Finito. And I'm not going to tell you why. I'm sorry, but it's personal.

I was gonna just wait until I felt better or different or something before blogging again, but then I thought, why? I don't need to stop talking, just to not talk about that. So.

Here is the cat looking very sarcastic, and I love the fact that her face so often mirrors what I myself am feeling. I love her for many other reasons, too, though not for her increasing tendency to meddle with my yarns.

I left a project on the table when I went out to meet Special J for our monthly pedicure date (my toes are my favorite pale blue again). I looked at it before I left, thought that it might be in danger of Kitwiching, and left it there anyway.

Came home to find that she'd knocked the ball of wool down and pulled it into a half-orbit around the coffee table.

"What do you think you are, a kitten?" I said, remembering how mad at her I'd been when, in her previous incarnation as a young ball of mischief, she'd run off and all the way down the long hallway with a giant skein of yarn, the unraveled tail trailing behind her.

She looked spectacularly pleased with herself tonight. Now, knowing her so much better, and having long ago acquired a larger degree of patience for the Way of Catness, I just laughed and told her, in a sweet voice, that she was a bad, bad girl. She yawned.

Yeah, I know. Cat stories. Watching paint dry is up next. But that's what I've got today. A nice half-hour walk in a huge gusty wind (hey, I like it like that), and a craving for summer fruits.

I do like this scarf I've begun knitting. It's ethereal. I don't feel ethereal myself; I feel like a solid red wall, and I'm cool with that, and with any torrent of fire that may rain out of me tomorrow afternoon if I run into him. It's been a long damn time since I struck another human being with my fist, and I may be due. See? Not talking about it. No, not talking about it at all.