I let Edsel out this morning, as I am wont to do, and 15 minutes later I was struck by his quiet-ness, a habit not usually reserved for Edsel. I looked out the back door...
and he's eating a rabbit. How very French. He clearly just caught it--there's fur just everywhere. Oh, that poor bunny.
If Tallulah were alive, you know I'd have credited her with catching it, never dreaming Eds was capable. And no, Iris was in here with me. I'm with you on that thought.
Anyway, here I am, showered for work, thank God. I'm the only person looking forward to getting back to the regular schedule. But when your family is 80,000 miles away and you're newly single
it gets rough. And of course I had all the time in the world to yell at myself for being back in this particular spot again this Christmas, just like last Christmas. Last Christmas, I gave you my heart. The very next day, I was dead.
Poor George Michael. Didn't one of you say, when we listed what Christmas songs we hated, that you hated that song? I do too, and I didn't even realize it was a George Michael song.
Oh, and speaking of what--
oh, god. Now the hawks or buzzards or whatever are in my yard. I made nothin' but a hound dog come in. Steely D and his no balls is OBSESSED now, all pressed against the window, lookin' at birds. This is quite an ecosystem you've created, Edsel.
Anyway, as I was saying, speaking of what a terrible person I am, I had a dream right before I woke up. Oh, good. June's gonna tell us about her dream.
I was with a bunch of kids, you know, the way I always am, and we were waiting for a bus or something, when one of the kids walked out around a parked bus and almost got hit.
"Eeeeeeek!" everybody yelled, and I went back to my book after a suitable moment of "that was close."
"Why weren't you watching her?" these two kids yelled at me. They'd been walking past. They were somewhere between 8 and 15.
"Watching her? ...what--oh! That kid! I have nothing to do with that kid," I said, trying to return to my book. It was true. Whatever I was doing with those children in the dream--probably taking them to the recycle center or something to mash them into pulp and make something useful out of them, whatever--that one kid was not with my group.
"YOU NEED TO WATCH KIDS AT ALL TIMES," the idiot child yelled at me. I remember it was a black kid and a white kid who had wandered up, disapproving of me. Very Wee Pals. They walked away, all huffy, the way Steely Dan does when he jumps up to the brewing coffee and scrapes his paw around it every morning and then leaves with his ears back. Yes, he's now at the whole pot trying to bury it, because apparently he hasn't made himself clear.
Anyway, in the dream, I chased after the kids.
"I DO NOT NEED TO WATCH KIDS AT ALL TIMES," I screeched. "They aren't my kids! I'll bet you have those kinds of moms who hover over you, don't you. She takes you to soccer 11 times a week, tells you you're special. WELL YOU AREN'T SPECIAL!" I screamed. "NO ONE IS!"
Then I woke up.
I start a new antidepressant today. Oh, go on, I don't really need it.
All morning I've felt guilty about screaming at kids that they aren't special. Mr. Rogers I am not. I am Mrs. Sregor. I've never wanted to have a neighbor just like you. I've never wanted to live in a neighborhood, with you, so let's make the least of this terrible day.
Jesus. All that's left of that poor rabbit now is one leg. Should I go back there, get it, make a keychain?
By the way, the only reading glasses I could find, out of the TWENTY THOUSAND PAIR IN THIS HOUSE, are the tinted ones the health committee at work gave me. I look like Miss Blankenship from Mad Men.
All right, I'd better get this party started. I'm coming out so you better get this party started. Does anything make you want to get a party started less than someone so full of herself that she demands things get started when she arrives?
You're not special.