Watching the hurricane

Here we are, at the intersection of weird and sad. Getting over it (it being everything) is visible in the distance, but they're uphill miles.

I'm hungry and I just ate, which is true both physically and metaphorically.

I'm sitting next to the window with the herb plants and today someone offered me a kitten with my haircut. I had to decline, citing Kitwich's continued sanity. I doubt she'd maul it or anything, but I also doubt she'd forgive me for taking away her only-child status. And I have some sympathy with that position.

I just looked over at her, stretched out on the rug looking both quizzical (What do you want? Are you asking me if I want the a/c back on? Because the answer is yes) and content. Cats usually look content. They're either very bored, or not very smart, or far wiser than we are, and it's impossible to tell which.

She's a rather brilliant cross-species communicator, but even so I have trouble telling what she's thinking when she looks at me like that. Inscrutable and imperturbable.

There was a thing - a terrible thing - that happened a few days ago, and I'm having some repercussions from it. The boy who refuses to get the hell out of my head was there, and was spectacularly unhelpful, and I went home and couldn't sleep. And then the next day I ran away and did something that might have been foolhardy (the jury is still out; I keep hoping no harm was done, but it didn't feel right either). And now I have a date with a third.

I am guardedly a little excited about the date with the third, though I really oughtn't to be, since the odds are slim with these things. It would be nice if it worked out well. It would, in fact, go a long way toward solving a few of my current difficulties. Shannon's going to tell me I'm being tantalizing again, but I expect you can all read between the lines.