The ocular thing passed before I was completely blinded which I think is good although now my head just feels like a wad of gray cotton which is swollen a little more than it should be.
If gray cotton should be in your head at all which I'm fairly certain it should not be.
I have no energy. It got soaked up into the gray cotton.
I gave Buster some tuna juice. You know, that stuff in the tuna can which is not the tuna. He drank it and then got up and walked to the Glen Den and laid back down on the rug. I think he has something called Old Dog Vestibular Disease. I'm pretty sure my mother had this too, although it wasn't called that because she was an old human and not an old dog. Something similar, anyway. I shall probably get it too.
I want to scratch my face off. I want to scrub it with apricot shells. I want skin again. I put some magical comfrey creme on it. It hasn't done anything magical yet.
The baby chicken is still dead.
I'm going to go put some laundry in the dryer and then I am going to go lay down and feel the weight of the world settle in on my body as it wants to do sometimes, as if it were the world's biggest dog and needs a cozy place to rest. This reminds me of a quote I just read over at Syd's which is this:
"Joy and sorrow are inseparable...together they come and when one sits alone with you...remember that the other is asleep upon your bed."
I'm not usually a big quote person (for instance, I read one today on Facebook that it took all my will not to comment on saying, "Bullshit!") but I've been thinking about that concept for awhile now and I think it's pretty true.
Maybe sometimes just when you feel the most sorrowful, joy is in the process of waking up, stretching and opening her eyes, straightening out her pink silk nightie, getting ready to take her shift with you.
It's nice to think about anyway, isn't it?
Which is almost enough sometimes, until the real thing comes along.
Much love...Ms. Moon