soggy

I got home from work after spending 8.25 hours with a lump in my throat, changed my clothes, and lay down on my back on the bed. H (my gray cat) crawled up and curled into a ball in the crook of my knee. P (my black cat) stretched out from my thigh to my chest. We lay there for about a half hour while I cried until my head was pounding, tears falling down the sides of my face into my ears. Even as I felt them, I knew I was experiencing an odd mix of feelings: sadness for J.R. and for J, her younger kitty; guilt for coming home to my two healthy cats; loneliness for my friend to whom I've grown more close since she moved to the east; fear and dread for the time when I'll be in her shoes; more guilt for thinking selfishly of myself and not either gratefully about my cats or with more care about my friend; and both bone-tiredness and sleepiness from wanting to lay down and cry all day but not being able to do it.

What a shitty day.

And it wasn't even my day to be shitty. J.R.'s been much more copacetic about things than I would be. Or, she's seemed that way. She has lots of friends in NY, good co-workers who knew her kitties and who care about her happiness, and a boyfriend who, well, who's what I'd have chosen, I think, if I'd had the chance to hand-pick her boyfriend. Her support system is extensive. That's all anyone could want for a friend at a time like this.