today, until like march or maybe even may, depending upon the type of winter we wind up with.
and so i popped bingley in his spacebag and marched him over to the vet to get a tutorial on how to do his nails. then i called up the egyptian and we went for a walk.
the banana trees are gone indoors, because winter is coming.
the christmas ornaments are out at miss pixie's. when we entered the store, i went straight to a pale blue-green pink and silver striped one.
apparently, i said this one's pretty, because after circling the whole store and winding back up at the beginning, i went to that same box i'd completely forgotten about, picked up the same ornament and said this one's pretty yet again. to which the egyptian, watching me do this a second time, said, i think that's the one that's yours.
time is so strange. as is communication. as is memory. as is life.
on wednesday (WHICH WAS YESTERDAY??!!), i had the longest therapy session of my life.
texting N, saying i'm assuming we're having our traditional chat on thanksgiving, i realized it's not yet been a week since our last chat.
when i teach all the classes, by noon, it seems entirely inconceivable that i taught NYU earlier that same day.
i have one week of HU teaching left. a few more weeks of NYU after that, but it's ending. winter is coming and we're putting fall 2021 to bed.
good riddance, i say, whilst also quaking a bit over what fresh hell may await us for spring.
we never know what we're going to get, and last spring was so unrelentingly awful.
but i am breaking patterns. i'm engaged in a seemingly unending game of trauma wack-a-mole, but i am breaking patterns.
time's passage is boggling, but maybe also a gift, in that, if today really is thursday and wednesday was only 24 hours ago, it somehow feels like i'm managing to cram nine years of living into each day at present.
not writing, mind you, but living. living beyond surviving, which is progress.
bingley got his nails did. when they clipped them, little tufts of the surrounding hair puffed off with each slice of the scissors.
he was a good sport.
when we returned, claude was in exactly the same place as when we'd left. clearly we'd not been missed whilst out on our adventure. claude staring us down from the sofa, it was like we'd only been gone a moment, nothing moved.