Also I'm having nightmares about dead cats, which turn into people I love for just a split second, and this is not ok. I do not like dreaming about dead things, and the problem is that I have a pet cemetery in the corner of my garden now, lurking just out of view from where I hang the laundry. I am usually pretty accepting of the passage of life, but I usually don't have the evidence buried in my flowerbed. It always seemed to me that grieving should be gentler with graves to visit, knowing the bones of your loved ones are close at hand. Scratch that and sign me up for the pyre, progeny.
But don't put Frank in charge.
And what do I even do about this garden thing? Dig up the cats and bury them out of sight in a field somewhere under cover of night? That is a lot of work, and it would probably not help the nightmare situation at all. I am thinking I will get some bricks and build the garden bed up a couple of feet and dump a lot more dirt on top, so at least they are deeper down in my psyche than where they are now, within a foot from clawing to the surface. We are not expert hole-diggers. There were roots and pipes and rocks down there, folks. Some big bushes are in order.
My solution to having bad feelings is usually to keep busy. I went through our children's magazines at the library and realized that they take online submissions for short illustrated stories and rhymes. My brain downshifted, and I spent the rest of the day talking in verse.
Zenny had some bread bread bread
She stuffed it in her head head head
Down into her tummy tummy tummy
Because it was so yummy yummy yummy!
Yep.
Working through this thing.
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