March 24, 2011

• Talkative

   

  I’m spending the night at my aunt’s house. She lives near the university, but I don’t see her nearly often enough. When I arrived, my older cousin and her new baby were visiting. My cousin got married four years ago and had her first child over Christmas. She is one of the coolest people I know—the kind of person who seems completely unshaken by anything, including perpetually crying newborns.

  We had a really nice visit, and the baby is terribly cute. My cousin is one of many people in my life that I really want to learn from—for as long as I’ve known her, she’s always seemed somehow deeply content, in an internal, not-governed-by-the-material-world way. She’s peaceful. It seems rare (or maybe just feels rare for me, Queen of the Anxious).  I was glad to have the chance to talk to her. Since her baby was born she has been reaching out to me a lot more than usual—she’s in touch by text message far more often, and continues to invite me to visit and have coffee and even to stay with her and her husband for the summer. Whatever the reason for it, it makes me happy. I want to get to know her better.

  After she left, my aunt and I had dinner. She made a fancy lasagna with vegetables in it that I have never heard of. She recommended a bunch of books for me to read and I taught her how to send a text message. We watched an episode of Modern Family and then a rerun of How I Met Your Mother. And then her cat tried to kill me.

  I am more than a little suspicious of this cat. I think he has it in for me. The last time I was over here—many months ago—there was an incident between the cat and I. I was sitting on the couch, minding my own business, and he was lying on the corner where the back of the couch met the armrest. And then, out of nowhere, he got up, hissed, and swatted at my head.

  And I thought, “Well, maybe I was sitting in his spot or something.”

  My aunt yelled at him and he hid in shame behind the armchair, and although he left me alone for the rest of the night, I could feel his Cat Eyes of Death following me wherever I went.

  But when I arrived today, I had mostly forgotten about it. I figured, you know, it's been a while since I was here, maybe he'll be in a better mood, maybe I really was sitting in his spot on the couch, maybe I smelled weird the last time I was here, I don't know. It'll be fine!

  But it wasn’t! 

  A few hours ago, I went into my aunt's room to change into my pajamas. When I’d finished changing and opened the door, THERE WAS THE CAT, staring at me. I walked past him, out into the hallway, and he LEAPT out from behind me, back arched, teeth bared, and HISSING. And he backed me into the wall.

  And my aunt yelled, and the cat went back behind the Armchair of Shame and I thought, "Well, that was encouraging." 

  He has been giving me the Cat Eyes of Death all night. Just a few minutes ago, I went back into her room to get something out of my bag, and the cat was sitting there, guarding my backpack. I stared at it in mortal fear for a while and then thought, "h, no. That is a cat. You are a human. Man up." 

  So I walked, slowly, towards my backpack. I looked the cat in the eyes as I reached down to open the zipper. I pulled out my computer, closed the backpack, and backed up. 

  The cat stared me down but didn't do anything. I left the room and sighed.

  And then he darted out from behind me and, positioning himself right in front of me, arched his back, bared his stupid, pointy cat-teeth and hissed until my aunt whacked him with a dishtowel.

  So I think I am probably going to die.

    ****
   

  It’s been nice to be here, though. Things are a bit insane in my apartment just now. I keep coming here and writing and re-writing posts about it and then deleting them because I feel like I shouldn’t discuss it anywhere (even though it's being discussed pretty openly in my actual life), including my secret internet clubhouse that only three people in the world know how to find. I will try not to go into too much detail—I am writing mostly because I feel like some sort of mental purge is necessary, but I might get rid of it later.

  (This is turning out to be the longest post ever—the last week has been so busy, and things keep happening and I feel like I could write until the sun comes up--not about anything in particular, I'm just full of...thoughts. I’m in my aunt’s living room looking out her balcony window and she’s gone to bed and Conan is playing quietly on the t.v. and I am continually peering over the arm of the couch just in case the cat has decided that it is time for me to meet my maker and I’m not sleepy and it’s so nice to be off campus and to be in a place that feels like a home.)

  I live in a small, Catholic women's residence—and residents have to reapply at the end of each year if they wish to return in the fall. Because the residence is small, and because it's still fairly new and still getting on its feet, selecting residents is not done lightly--because in such a small community (and a community that is still in the stages of really having to prove itself), you need everyone to be as on board as possible if things are going to go well. 

  Our residence is divided into six apartments. I live with a close friend of mine, and a set of nineteen-year-old twins. One of the twins reapplied to residence and didn't get back in.

  The decision was made by the director, whose judgment I really trust. I care about the twins—they’re nice girls, and we got along really well all year—and I understand that this is a really crappy situation. But the whole thing has gotten pretty crazy—which, partly, I think, has to do with the fact that the girl in question is still pretty young. She’s really angry (which I totally get) and is taking it out in weird ways—which stresses me out. Our apartment has been full of door-slamming and stomping and whispering and general hostility and, because we live in such a small community, the whole issue has become a huge topic of conversation and everyone has an opinion--and I just don’t have the energy. (And I know there is no reason for her to be angry at me, but sometimes it feels that way anyway, and that's uncomfortable, too.)

  And I'm tired and, mentally, I'm mostly elsewhere—my brain has leapt into summertime, into library school, into all of the crazy waves of change that are on their way. I ended up getting the summer job I wanted, which makes me really happy. I'll explain it later, because this post is long and ranty enough for one day (or two). But things are lining up, and it's nice. 

  I have to remember that, in the midst of papers and roommate drama and endless stupid winter. I just need to get through, and there are good things waiting on the other side.

   

  Provided the cat doesn't kill me in my sleep.

  h.

   

   

   

  • 2:05 am
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