Posted in Keep Moving Forward, True Story

The First Year

Today marks the first anniversary of Doomsday’s death. An anniversary that I actually never thought would come. I figured she would live until I died and then we would enter the ether together. Like a wizard and their Patronus.

Instead she was handed to me by a heartbroken vet into my openly weeping embrace. I cry just thinking about that feeling. Even though ten minutes later the crying vet came back and was like “How are we doing in here?” and then we cracked a sad joke about never knowing when it’s time to hand back “the body” while we both bawled our faces off. I remember saying “I think 10 minutes is good, otherwise it’s starting to get weird that I’m just sitting here with a dead animal.”

Even though I was thinking it wasn’t THAT weird because we had spent years of ours lives together. What was a few moments of her death to say goodbye forever?

Several things have happened this year that were harder without her, but more odd.

It’s strange to lose a pet. She wasn’t a person, a living breathing human that I could hold conversations with, she never gave me advice, or teased me for being silly, or even laughed with me. But she held such a huge part of my heart and soul that it felt weird to not have her around anymore.

Things you would never think about were really hard without her.

Christmas, mainly. I’m usually the first person up on Christmas just because now I’m the first of three early risers awake in my house on a regular basis and I’m not one for sleeping in unless I’m sick or had a hard week. So when I wake up Christmas morning she was the first creature I would celebrate it with. I would take pictures and let her open her new present of a toy. (She was more concerned about the wrapping paper because she loved to chew, so I made sure to always wrap stuff.)

Filling the corner she lived in was hard. I thought (when she was alive) that decorating the room would be a good thing to move forward, something positive, I would have room for other things and a new space to organize and decorate. I put my writing desk there, it felt weird to sit there and still be able to see the marks that were left on the floor from her cage. I moved a bookshelf there, it hurt to put something there that I’m always looking at.

It felt rude to replace her. That was HER space.

Finally I decided that I would put a chair where I could read and sew. A productive corner where her little ghost could come and chew my patterns and perch on the top of the chair. (Something she liked to do when she was alive.) It still felt weird, but it was a positive weird.

The worst was moving her cage out. I had to empty that out, throw away her litter and anything that wouldn’t be helpful to a future pets life. I moved her cage into the garage so I wouldn’t have to look at it empty. For that first week I would go out into the garage and click her water bottle because I couldn’t sleep without that noise. Or I would try to imagine it as I fell asleep. Sometimes I would even think I really heard it. And then I would remember, and the wound was open once again.

Coming home at the end of the day was bizarre. I always kept my light on, especially in the winter months, so that she would have the light in the room and not always be in the dark. So when I would walk up to the house it was a harsh reminder because my brain would immediately think “Who the hell turned that off? She needs that on.” and I would get so mad. Then my heart would plummet with the realization that the light doesn’t need to be on because she’s no longer there.

My nightly schedule is thrown off. I used to do “lights out” between 8 and 9, which was essentially turning off my laptop and whatever I was watching so that I could read and she could come out and hop around the room for an hour and a half before bed. Now I have no schedule. I don’t even sleep on time anymore. I used to get 8 hours of sleep and now I’m lucky if it’s 6.

My insomniac friends/parent friends want to punch me when I say that.

Her birthday was hard too. I used to go out and get her a new toy in February and she would immediately destroy it. I just loved our little celebrations together of life and love because she was the only creature who was fully mine and I was fully hers and while that’s a little Stockholm syndrome-y, it was a beautiful and ridiculous love.

One of the hardest things is that now I have no idea what to do for my Christmas card this year. Which sounds stupid, but that was one of our traditions in the fall. I would figure out something silly or cute and get ready early for Christmas. I even knit her a little scarf one year for our picture. And last years was so sad to me that I made my piano teacher take it down from his cork board after a few months of staring at my “smiling” face. I knew that I had actually been bawling my face off because I knew this was the last of our pictures like that. I didn’t want to look at my sad face or her tired face anymore. (Thankfully, he complied, and now he has a sarcastically made birthday card from me in its place. Which I appreciate more and helps me not completely lose focus. Or cry.)

I miss her all the time.

Today I feel haunted by her ghost. And not just the ghost of her memory, like legitimately her ghost. Strange things have been happening all day that don’t normally go on.

I know that time heals all wounds, and while this wound doesn’t feel as raw and broken and heart wrenching as it was on this day a year ago, I still hurt from missing her.

And all because I fell in love with a bunny in 2009.

How absurd.

Posted in Kids Books

Matilda–Roald Dahl

The kid and I, well mostly me, decided to start reading all the Roald Dahl books in his sisters room after I had read the Disney stories until I could barf. (And I love Disney stories.) I basically knew the entire thing cover to cover, and it had pictures, and it was heavy to hold, so I decided to move on to paperbacks.

As a kid who grew up in the 90’s I had watched the movie Matilda and prayed that someday I would get magical powers and be able to move things with my mind.

Reading the book now, as a 29 year old human, I have come to one conclusion:

I want magical powers and to be able to move things with my mind.

This book is (if you haven’t heard about it or read anything) about a little girl whose family is wretched and she ends up getting telepathic powers and decides to exact revenge for them being terrible people on them and anyone else who acts wrongly.

I liked this book, I like his style, I liked the story, I liked Matilda and Ms. Honey, and I loved that Hank loved it. He would get tired and ask for “Batilda” with a sigh like I was the one keeping him awake.

What I didn’t like however, was some of the cursing and the fact that Matilda’s parents were actually just going to leave her behind. And then let Ms Honey adopt her like it was no big deal to just get rid of their kid. Made me mad. But whatever.

Lovely book otherwise.


Posted in Uncategorized

Lumberjanes: Beward the Kitten Holy

My brother gave this to me for Christmas last year and while I’m not an avid reader of graphic novels (Besides The Walking Dead) I will definitely keep reading this series.

It was funny and weird and my kind of strange and humour.

It’s about a summer camp of misfit girls who are trying to solve the mystery of the Kitten Holy.

It was just hilarious and fun to read and I learned some new curses, which always pleases me.

Go. Buy it.


Posted in Keep Moving Forward

“Give me a smile”–Keep Moving Forward

I got really amped up the other night because my brain decided that instead of sleep it would think over something that has really been bothering me.

“Bitchy Resting Face”.

I have it, I know that, I always look unimpressed or super annoyed when I’m just hanging around and thinking or just working away at a task.

In truth, I’m not unimpressed. That’s just my face.

My little sister also has this face, and while I don’t get too wound up about stuff involving myself, I do get insanely angry when things happen to my siblings. Lately customers and workers have been going into her work and telling her to ‘Smile more.’

To which she just stares at them and her ‘Bitchy Resting Face’ turns into ‘Go Fuck Yourself Face’. Or simply says ‘No.’ Which I find hilarious.

What has me wound up is not just people picking at my baby sister, but that people (mainly men, I’ve found.) have the gaul to tell someone to change their face because they want a different look when they walk into a room. How self-centred is that?

You don’t like how my face looks when you walk into a room? Well maybe YOU should change YOUR attitude. My face will be in reaction to how much I care for you. And if you are a customer, yes, I will be kind at first, but then you telling me to change my face for your pleasure will make our future interactions less friendly.

Because you don’t own my face. You don’t own how I feel about you or your presence. Nobody should tell anyone to change their facial expression! It makes me so mad!

Because it’s actually incredibly sexist.

The man that sits across from my sister in the office doesn’t get told to smile even though he has the same expression.

I’ve been told time and again ‘You would be so pretty if you smiled.’.

So you’re telling me my regular face is ugly? Oh thanks. Now I’ll smile you self serving son of a bitch.

I’ve been told time and again “Why don’t you give me a smile?”

Because I don’t want to. That’s why.

I’ve been told “Perk up.” “Smile more.” “Why are you so angry?” “What’s the matter with you? Somebody piss in your cereal?”

No. You just walked in the door. And this is my fucking face.

I’ve been asked “Just give ME a smile?”
Why? Because you’re so special?

And this is from strangers. (Okay, sometimes people or customers I had seen on the regular and had made an assessment about our relationship from the get go based on how they treat me and others around me.)

Let’s get a couple things straight shall we?

No one can tell you how to react to them. No one can ask for a smile. No one has control over your face but you.

My smile doesn’t belong to anyone but me. And I get to decide who sees it. It’s a signal to show I care about you.You don’t get to demand someone’s facial expression to be more bright because it bothers you that they don’t light up when you walk into a room. That is not your right.
I am not going to be subservient and submissive to stroke your ego.

You do have one thing correct however:

You are not the sun that lights the day. I am.

I am brilliant and dangerous. And my smile DOES light up a room.

It can also burn your guts into liquid, take the flesh from your bones, and char your remains.

My light is malevolent and fickle. But make no mistake:

It. Is. Mine.

Keep moving forward.


Posted in Uncategorized

True Story


The kid keeps telling me that I’m weird like it’s a bad thing. So I just keep saying ‘Thank you’ and ‘Weird is fun Tiny Pants, so I bid you adieu!’

He hasn’t stopped calling me weird. And I’ll never stop BEING weird.