some notes on neglect
i've been especially busy this week, and some suffering has resulted from it. the most tragic victim is undoubtedly my little cat; i do all i can to keep her purring contentedly, but sometimes i have to move around, and being forcibly ejected from my lap seems to make her want to die. lately, whenever she feels neglected, depressed or overwhelmed, she trolls the kitchen baseboards looking for tiny bits of rubbish that she can eat in a bizarro ritual of kitty purification. no matter how many times i interrupt her or how hard i try to distract her, she isn't finished until she decides she's atoned fully. it's like internal self-flagellation. here are some of the glossy cracker-jack prizes she expelled this morning:
note the complete absence of any substance resembling cat food. now, she does eat, i see her doing it. it seems that she's found a way to time her scavenging around periods when her stomach is empty, so that she regurgitates only those objects that are meant to bring tears to my eyes. evil, evil girl. i have tried on countless occasions to explain to her that i, too, would give anything to be able to lie around in bed with her all day every day, but she won't believe me. cats. what can you do?
my own diet has taken a turn for the worse, as well. i've been eating mostly cookies, tortilla chips, chocolate and faux deli meats. my hair is falling out at an impressive rate, probably due pretty heavily to the fact that i've been every bit as bad about taking my vitamins as i've been about eating balanced meals, but when i got on the scale today i found that i'd lost two pounds. not what i would have expected; maybe it's just what i've lost in hair. i did manage to get to the market yesterday and am currently enjoying a very yummy dinner of baby carrots, bell peppers, baba ganoush and marinated tofu, so things are starting to look up.
i've punished you, too, my darlings, and don't think it isn't gnawing away at my very bones. i miss you when i'm gone, and i'm grateful to those of you who continually check up on and nag me. some of you have expressed some concern about my failure to comment on malcolm gladwell's most recent new yorker piece on the ivy league's admissions process; "joon," you asked, your voices tremulous with adorably sweet concern, "you and your secret boyfriend aren't having problems, are you? don't tell us the magic has begun to fade!" and of course you should never have got yourselves all worked up about an idea as silly as that, my little chickens. contrariwise, it simply took me an extra-long time to finish the article because i had to keep stopping to hug it. but i've read it twice now, and i'll discuss it soon. in the meantime, if you get a chance to read it and have comments to make, please feel free, and i'll try to address as many of your points as i can. unless, of course, your comments are negative, in which case you will be hated and shunned. no, not really. well, maybe. it'll depend on whether or not i've had my coffee yet. forget that, though; you should never let my limitless potential for irrational nonsense keep you from speaking your mind. i sure don't.
postscript, 11:22 p.m.: speaking of irrational nonsense, can i just tell you how much i wish the show numb3rs were a boy so i could make out with it? A LOT. the only math major i knew in college was a girl, and even if i had wanted to venture down that path, she was in a very committed relationship. besides, she never wanted to talk about math when we were together. i think i need to start spending more of my free afternoons on the MIT campus. why were all of my math and physics professors so skittish and curiously odored? *pout* i got robbed.
lsz, you watch this show; did you think of me when charlie got an anonymous love note from someone who was a big fan of his work and his hair? because i thought of you, you afro-dreamin' kook.
- • a fragment of the serrated edge of a foil cereal-bar wrapper
• a piece of stained wood, two or three millimeters in length
• brown paper from a grocery bag
• fur
• human hair
• green vegetable matter, possibly broccoli florets
• the plastic tab from a clothing tag
note the complete absence of any substance resembling cat food. now, she does eat, i see her doing it. it seems that she's found a way to time her scavenging around periods when her stomach is empty, so that she regurgitates only those objects that are meant to bring tears to my eyes. evil, evil girl. i have tried on countless occasions to explain to her that i, too, would give anything to be able to lie around in bed with her all day every day, but she won't believe me. cats. what can you do?
my own diet has taken a turn for the worse, as well. i've been eating mostly cookies, tortilla chips, chocolate and faux deli meats. my hair is falling out at an impressive rate, probably due pretty heavily to the fact that i've been every bit as bad about taking my vitamins as i've been about eating balanced meals, but when i got on the scale today i found that i'd lost two pounds. not what i would have expected; maybe it's just what i've lost in hair. i did manage to get to the market yesterday and am currently enjoying a very yummy dinner of baby carrots, bell peppers, baba ganoush and marinated tofu, so things are starting to look up.
i've punished you, too, my darlings, and don't think it isn't gnawing away at my very bones. i miss you when i'm gone, and i'm grateful to those of you who continually check up on and nag me. some of you have expressed some concern about my failure to comment on malcolm gladwell's most recent new yorker piece on the ivy league's admissions process; "joon," you asked, your voices tremulous with adorably sweet concern, "you and your secret boyfriend aren't having problems, are you? don't tell us the magic has begun to fade!" and of course you should never have got yourselves all worked up about an idea as silly as that, my little chickens. contrariwise, it simply took me an extra-long time to finish the article because i had to keep stopping to hug it. but i've read it twice now, and i'll discuss it soon. in the meantime, if you get a chance to read it and have comments to make, please feel free, and i'll try to address as many of your points as i can. unless, of course, your comments are negative, in which case you will be hated and shunned. no, not really. well, maybe. it'll depend on whether or not i've had my coffee yet. forget that, though; you should never let my limitless potential for irrational nonsense keep you from speaking your mind. i sure don't.
postscript, 11:22 p.m.: speaking of irrational nonsense, can i just tell you how much i wish the show numb3rs were a boy so i could make out with it? A LOT. the only math major i knew in college was a girl, and even if i had wanted to venture down that path, she was in a very committed relationship. besides, she never wanted to talk about math when we were together. i think i need to start spending more of my free afternoons on the MIT campus. why were all of my math and physics professors so skittish and curiously odored? *pout* i got robbed.
lsz, you watch this show; did you think of me when charlie got an anonymous love note from someone who was a big fan of his work and his hair? because i thought of you, you afro-dreamin' kook.
Labels: geek love, malcolm, ophelia, puppy(/kitty) love, whiny
posted by juniper pearl @ 5:39 PM
6 Comments:
At 7:12 PM,
Anonymous said…
I, too, have a little cat with serious emotional problems. After six years of letting her burrow into my lap like a tick when I'm at the 'puter, chew on my power cords and instrument cables, and sleep on my chest all night like she's keeping vigil, she still cowers whenever I walk by, her wide panicked eyes seeming to say, "You're not going to beat me again, are you?" Dammit, Rosie, I've never beaten you and I never will. But I will continue to throw you off my lap from time to time, when you insist on reaching up with your paw, hooking a claw into my merino wool sweater, and pulling.
At 8:33 PM,
juniper pearl said…
cats take rejection incredibly hard for some reason; all rosie understands is that you love your sweater better than her. if we lived closer to each other we could go halvsies on group psychotherapy.
At 12:28 AM,
Anonymous said…
Indeed. She's also quite concerned about my affection for my iMac, which she's dealt with by initiating her own intense erotic relationship with it. Licking it, rubbing her scent glands against it, the works.
At 5:43 AM,
Me said…
i feel lucky, my cat has no feelings for me whatesoever.
i read MG's article. there was one i not dotted and i heard a few "umms" however i do agree with m-o-s-t of it. i went to Penn State because i received a scholarship from my exquisite violin playing abilities and because my dad <3'd PSU football. hey it worked. i know a jew for jesus that went to Harvard, however.
we missed you JP don't stay away so long next time... and no i didn't think of you during, because i missed that episode, i'm busy crocheting pretty scarves to wear to attract odor free mathematicians.. cause well, yeah they are hawt. *swoon*
At 5:59 PM,
juniper pearl said…
your friends close and your enemies closer, spine; the computer's a lot less likely to betray her if it feels like they have a bond. mind like a steel trap, that kitten.
and as for you, lsz, you brat, you just get off his back about the ums. of course, if you were hearing them while reading that article then that's more your problem than his. that's very exciting, though, about your violin scholarship. i don't know many people who took advantage of an artistic skill to get into a school that didn't specialize in art. and if those scarves work, i'll take a few dozen.
for the record, lest you think i'm blindingly biased, i'll admit that the wording of the following sentence made me wrinkle my nose*:
"... you ended up as socially irrelevant as the University of Chicago (an institution Harvard officials looked upon and shuddered.)"
oh, honey, no. that's not right. it's so not right that i'm still struggling to find a way to fix it. looked upon and shuddered at? upon which harvard officials looked and shuddered? there has to be a best way, but my guy didn't find it. he did, however, use the phrase "parlor pinks" in the last sentence, and how can you not forgive him anything after that?
* the disclosure statement on his website is also, or at least it was the last time i checked, a typographical nightmare. but for all i know that's someone else's doing.
At 7:33 PM,
Me said…
i can't help myself.. the ums were so cute and you know it too!
all skools need music.. whether they are artsy fartsy or not. i was only 2nd chair 2nd violin so i really didn't count for much other than TONE babee..you know it.
i think most got the idea about looking upon and shuddering at :p but i know dear this is your passion.. the content was there, and really most of us looked right over it!! (preposition ends are my fav.) yes i am a nightmare w/words however if you heard me speak you would be amazed at how well i put together my phrases it's crazy.. crazy like, valley girl OMG barf me out, gag me w/a spoon, afro's are so bitchin' crazy.
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