Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,
Jacqui
jacqui

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Our Beautiful Fluffy Kitten Friend Died This Morning

Another one of my cats died. He was only a teenager cat. He was little and fluffy, all black but with a few scattered white hairs and a grey tip on his tail. He was so gentle and sweet and affectionate. I don't know exactly what happened. I am going to take him to the vet as soon as I eat so I can take my pills. I've been sleeping all day so I don't have to face it, face my sadness and go to the vet, pick up the kids, when I'm still so sick.

Noemi woke me up this morning holding him in a towel. She set him down in my lap and I petted him and hugged him and cried and cried. We thought he had a cold and were giving him Amoxycillin to prevent it from turning in to pneumonia. I hate myself for not taking him to the vet. It could be so many different things but the most likely would be pneumonia or a weak heart. He was just dead this morning, with his little body hiding half under this green chest. I'm so sorry. I know he is free and floating around in joy somewhere wishing he could reach through my stupid human foggyness and tell me it's all right and that he doesn't blame me, I believe this intellectually, but emotionally I feel like a bad parent, a neglectful murderer.

I'm going to take Baby, the cat I mentioned to you yesterday, my old lady cat, and the little cat who died, and his brothers and sister to the vet, just to make sure everyone is okay. It all just feels so daunting and scary. It doesn't help that my Mother plays keep away with my inheritance so I have to play games and never know if this will be the day she cut off the credit card or called the vet and said, no more bills. I'm selling things on eBay as fast as I can, I keep hoping something will come along and lift us out of this.

I guess it's natural to be sad, my Dad died, my cats die, I've been sick, I'm worried about money. Sometimes I worry that my journal is too morose, who would want to read all this sadness, it's like a painful movie that you wouldn't want to watch. But I write anyway because I need to be my real self somewhere, be accepted somewhere for who I am, and this seems to be that place. I think through you, and your amazing, generous support, I am learning to love myself more deeply that I ever have before. I feel sometimes as if I'm getting the kind of love here that I never really got from family. I'm growing and I can feel it. I am so grateful to you for this.

My Beautiful Weird Dreams
I had unusual dreams again. I guess I always have unusual dreams. I love them though, they're mine and beautiful in their weirdness. I'm sure I think this because they are really bits and pieces of my subconscious struggling to be recognized and understood. Last night I dreamt I had bought or inherited this really old townhouse in New York. It was gorgeous and very fine, but had never been restored, the electricity and plumbing was ancient, and it was haunted.

In the dream I am an eccentric aristo actor woman. I am still under the thumb of my domineering parents, (gee that's a stretch), and want their approval. I am working on the house but things keep going wrong. The time period is long ago, maybe the eighteen hundreds or so, but it feels longer than that, although at one point there are cars, so it's a mix.

People keep coming in to my home. I don't really remember how I got here and I feel disoriented. I just go along with everything so I won't be discovered. I am getting ready to be in the play Hedda Gabler tonight. I am trying to put my makeup and my costume and things together, but the ghosts keep playing games with me, moving things from one place to another and the rooms are so strange and confusing, it's hard to find my way around.

I go out on a roof top deck to talk to some workers. The wood flooring is unstable and I am afraid to stand on it. There is another woman here near me, she is blonde and very pretty. Just as I tell her that she should step off this dangerous part of the deck, it collapses and she falls to the ground and is injured. People run to help her and I am trying to run through the house to get out, but it just goes on and on. By the time I get outside they have just left for the hospital.

There is a man here who I am in love with. He is dark and handsome. We are trying to find places to make love undiscovered. People are very discouraging about our being together. We are pining for each other, it's all very staid and melodramatic. It turns out that he is the Prince of Wales and that he is gay. Some sexual technique that I have performed on him with a button (don't ask me I don't know where this stuff comes from) has satisfied him in some way and made it possible for him to want to be with a woman, (what?) The Queen is thrilled that he has slept with a woman and endorses our affair. She wants us to marry, but my stuffy American New York society parents are against it. Suddenly he decided against being with me. I am crushed, I want him, I have to have him. I need to get ready to go to the theatre. I keep hoping he will come, and once he sees me in my natural setting, (theatre) he will want me again.

Everyone is piling in a car. I have lots of friends and family, (that's nice). I squish in the back-seat, (this is a very old fashioned car) with my gay lover boyfriend man and another man who is also gay. I'm thinking maybe I could get him to like me by involving this other man in things.

It's snowing outside. New York is beautiful, beautiful wide streets, no crowds, just street lights and snow, the occasional car and these amazing homes.

I get to the theatre. I have to run to make my entrance. The stage manager cues me and I go on. It's a theatre in the round. I'm so happy to be on stage, ahhhh home. I say my first line and I hear laughter. It's Lorraine, my old friend with whom I've had such a complicated painful conflicted on again off again relationship through the years. I'm not surprised that she's laughing, she clearly doesn't support me, doesn't want me to succeed. This makes me more determine and I push on with the play. I wake up and don't want to face my day, my dead cat, my other cats who may be ill, my illness, the effort it takes to face all of this.

The one bright spot in all of this is that we have left the decorations up so that Sunday, (my friend the magazine editor) can come by to shoot the house. I'm looking forward to this. I'll take some shots too, to share with you.

Shayan's Dad is going to be mad at me. Late as usual.

Love you,
Jacqui
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