December 6th, 2002

Chalkboard

Priscilla Loses An Eye

My Priscilla, my crazy, cat-hating, new cat Priscilla - the one who peed on me and bit me four or five times, the one I was guilted in to taking at the animal shelter, when my offer of the three hundred dollar deposit, and twenty-five dollars a month for six months, to cover the rent increase, was rejected by the stranger I offered it to, just lost her eye. It didn't roll out of her head and under the table, not that kind of lost, but I had to make the heart wrenching choice to have it removed surgically.

We've all been crying. It's just so fucking sad. She developed an eye infection that we were treating. We were being super proactive about it, much warm water rinsing, and multiple daily applications of antibiotic ointments. But she's a difficult person, she's...traviesa, (I can't think of a good word in English right now, too bleary and tired), and she ruptured her eye with the long nails she wouldn't let us cut. At least that's what we think happened. Then I had to decide whether to put her through tissue grafting surgeries that wouldn't restore her site but might save her eye, or to remove the eye completely, which would look worse to us but be better for her. Obviously I opted for the latter. But I feel really shitty about it. I keep blaming myself, which is very me.

I know she'll be okay. Jake only has one eye and I've had blind cats before, but we just got her, and it all seems so unfair and cruel. I just don't understand why animals have to suffer so much. It makes me furious, with myself and with her previous caregiver for giving her away, but in the end I guess it's meant to be somehow. It looks like she'll be ours permanently now, and oddly enough, despite her having been one of the scariest, most difficult cats I've ever adopted, we've all fallen in love with her.

I'll try to take a picture of her for you tomorrow.

Big weary hugs for all of you,
Jacqui
XOXOXO
Chalkboard

Adoption Wounds and Jorge Gets in Trouble

Tonight's 24 Hours was about adoption so of course I got sucked in to my usual sad search for any kind of information about my birth family on the Internet. I'm always hoping for that link to a connection that it looks like I will never have. I registered with The Reunion Registry just in case there is some slim sliver of hope that my birth-father is still alive out there somewhere and might want to find me. I keep hoping my other sister and brother won't be as disconnected and disinterested as the one sister I spoke to over the phone was. And the sad thing, for me anyway, is that she is so cool. She's interested in marine biology, loves the ocean, has red hair. She's beautiful. But of course she's going to side with her Mother and my Mother hates me so I guess then so would she.

I don't know what the true circumstances of my birth are. My birth-mother has told too many different stories to too many people. The story she's been sticking to for the last ten years is that she was raped. She amended it to date rape but won't tell me one single piece of information about the man who fathered me. It's worked out perfectly for her considering that she doesn't want to have anything to do with me, and wants to keep my half siblings from knowing or contacting me. Who would want to have contact with a half-sister who is the daughter of someone who raped your mother? Heartbreak.

It's no wonder I want to live in a television fantasy family world. No wonder I dream at night of being a member of The Osbournes. I so yearn for connection and family, for a real sense of place and belonging. For connection with people who are loving and kind.

I had the phone interview today with the writer for the Mary Engelbreit Magazine article. Her name is Ann Wilson and she's nice and sharp, easy to like and open up to. It was fun and challenging. It's hard to put everything about your home and your life into a kind of word capsule that a writer can pick through and find shiny quotes to use from. She said that the story, that will be coming out in the May issue(?) is ten pages long. That was exciting to hear.

Little Jorge, Irma's son, got in trouble at school today, and since they couldn't reach Irma, because her cell phone had been disconnected, they called me. He's a handful, this little guy. He got two behavior warning cards before lunch and then got into a fight with another kid who pushed him down in the mud, at which point, Jorge decided he'd had enough of this whole school thing and decided he was going home. I think his teacher had had enough of the whole Jorge thing as well, because she practically begged me to come and take him away.

I went and picked him up and since I was there I got Jacky and Monica too and then we all went and got Beau and had bagels and Jamba Juice fruit shakes. I love being with the kids. Although Jorge did scream at Jacky once in the car and it was so sudden and so loud it made me swerve the car. He was mad at her because being the good big sister she is, she was telling him that he needs to behave better in school and bla bla bla, and he just suddenly had enough of that and barked out this sharp yell and covered his head with his backpack.

I worry about whether my skin itches from dryness or the spread of ringworm. It seems to be getting better though. I gave Lucilla and Sunny baths today. Lucilla was wild and springy, and Sunny just sat there looking wet. He's such a mellow person.

I've been spending so much time in my room that even my cats are getting sick of me. Yesterday I played Animal Crossing for something like nine hours straight, getting up only for my many bathroom breaks. If it weren't for my faulty bladder I never would have left my TV screen. I just had to pay off my loan, and fix up my house, dig up fossils to donate to the museum, trade fruit, catch bugs, and do errands for my neighbors, and there were all of those weeds to be picked. It's that addicting, well, at least for me. I've had to leave that dangerous Game Cube alone today in order to experience a bit of reality. Live in your world, Play in ours, isn't just an advertising slogan to me anymore.

I want to buy one of those sixties aluminum Christmas trees, in pink.

Oh and I love tangerines, who knew?