BAD BEHAVIOUR

My apartment mate has a cold or flu, and, in consequence, spent the day at home. In a horrid mood. Which is understandable, but of course that cramped my style as well as hers. She got upset at me for spending too much time in the kitchen making myself dinner. Our tastes are not the same, so over ninety percent of the time we eat differently. Consequently, rather than eating the dinner I had prepared for myself, I went outside for an hour and a half.

[Yeah okay, I didn't react well. I don't want to talk about it.]


When I got back, my dinner was cold. So were my hands, as I had forgotten my gloves. The combination of rain, icy wind, and Raynaud's phenomenon conspired to give me blue and nearly useless digits. Couldn't use my damned fingers effectively for the next hour or so.

She was back in her room.

I felt angry, and sorry for myself. But I keenly want her to survive, get better, get the damned vaccine, and have a long happy life, because I care about her and cannot imagine life without her, or the voice she gives to the stuffed animals. She can be bad tempered and pissy, but she's an old friend whom I treasure.


The storm outside had intensified by the time I went to bed.
I truly hate winter weather, as it house-binds me.
And I really do like using my fingers.


I had put Syney Filbert outside her closed door, so that he could sleep somewhere warm and comfortable when she found him there, upon going to pee. But two hours late he was still sitting outside, looking forlorn.

Forlorn Turkey Vulture

So he spent the rest of the night in my room under the covers.
I am an asshole, but not a heartless man.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================