You know, you know, you know, sometimes life is just odd.
I won't go into it except to say that once again, Mr. Moon was the hero because he killed a chicken. This time it was a chicken who was very sick, probably with an egg stuck in her (nature is not always perfect) and a ten-year old boy asked him to ease her suffering as the other chickens had begun to peck her on her death bed.
Nature is not always not only not perfect, but cruel as hell, too.
And so he did it. He released that hen into death and there was a burial and there was a cookout and there were quite a few people and Kathleen sat there and took phone calls and tried not to look as tired as she was and pretended to eat (she's having trouble swallowing due to the radiation) and I wanted so badly to just say, "Everyone! Out of the way! She's coming home with me!" and then bring her here to let her be quiet and not in charge of anyone's happiness or well-being or comfort, not even a dog's or a cat's, just hers and hers alone and to rest.
But it didn't seem possible and so we just came home and here we are and it's almost another week and so, here we go, life as we know it.
Soon, I tell you, I don't care what anyone but Kathleen says- if I feel that she must be taken and given permission to rest, then I'm going to do it.
I'm warning you, Kathleen!
Let's all have sweet dreams. Let's all get up tomorrow and do what we have to do, what we should do, and let us not worry about the outcome.