Blow

I never thought it would be possible to cry this hard while listening to Cock Sparrer.  Yet, here I am, in the back yard, watching ET eat fresh shoots of vibrant green grass (it was in the 20s the other day, so I'm not sure what that grass is thinking), and bawling next to Whoopis' grave.  I've spent the last couple of hours sorting through some of my favorite songs, working on a mix for Nauticalina.  I enjoy spending afternoons alone wearing my headphones and hopelessly singing out of tune for no one but the cats and ET to judge me.  I had the television on mute, and I just happened to look up right when a shot of a dead cat half-buried amongst a pile of junk on Hoarders.  If that wasn't jarring enough, this cat looked so much like Whoopis.  Queue uncontrollable sobbing.  It's an hour later and I'm still crying.  I can't stop.  I'm screaming silently in the backyard and clenching my fists, my  hands white-knuckled with cold.

I didn't specifically set out to listen to Cock Sparrer--it was a random iPod choice.

So, I'm sitting here on a wet chair having a beer.  It is gray and cold.  But it isn't raining.  When ET stops eating, I will go inside and try to dry my tears.  I've decided to listen to the Bunnymen's All My Life on repeat until ET is ready.