Pester

Another low-census, called off day. The less I do, the less I want to do. I got up early, intending to start cleaning. Having my tea and cereal, Moby snuggled in, a program about engineering the Coliseum and the Pantheon in Rome came on, and I still have done nothing more than move a few items in the kitchen and made another cup of tea.

Just got an email from D, apparently Moby was Adventure Cat this morning, walked out in the hall with him quite a long time, so he got to work later than planned. We are just going to blame the cat for our delays today. Mostly because the cat doesn't care, nor even notice. In fact, he got a chicken burger last night, so he's quite content. When we get ground chicken, we pull a small amount aside before spicing, and cook it up in a thin burger, cat-portion size. He likes this very much.

"You want to say it's all my fault? But I still get the chickenburger, right? Cool, whatever, I never do understand you people."

I think I have come to a weird acceptance of my isolation and lack of much attachment. It is a little sad, but it's also very analytical, working out the rules, moderating my expectations. Not unlike understanding my physical limitations. My mother often warned me not to be a pest, and ingrained in me is the prohibition against pushing myself on anyone. Inside this is a hesitation to grow too fond of anyone, and constantly distrust my own appeal and value. For an outgoing child, the warning may have been moderating and humanizing. Multiplied by my own introversion, this was a terrible positive feedback loop, telling a shy child to doubt herself even more. Now with a lifetime of lost friendships to prove it.



Now, I must get the vacuuming done and the kitchen clean, and be of use.