My Week - Page 9


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Thread: My Week

  1. #81
    I decided not to hate him.
    That's a really good outlook to embrace. I bet he used to be a prideful man, strong in his own way. Perhaps a provider. When the ravages of age begin to undermine the body before the mind has gone, there is no reconciliation besides humility and acceptance, which is hard for some people. Fear of death pervades our culture, but we must all eventually experience it. Never has there been a more sound reason to embrace the beauty of life and be nice to strangers.



  2. #82
    So, like most towns, mine has a large downtown fireworks display. I had a rough day at work yesterday, and I was kind of looking forward to watching the fireworks. I can see downtown from where I live, and I just have to step out in my driveway to see and hear the shells explode. I was sitting on the trunk of my car last night, waiting for the show.

    A busy road runs right in front of my house. As I was waiting for the fireworks, I saw the neighbor's cat get hit by a car. I walked over to the cat, a small yellow and white one, and it was still alive. The cat's back was broken, and it was clawing at the dirt, trying to get up. The cat almost seemed embarrassed. I immediately thought of the old phrase 'Cats hide to die, and dogs go home'.

    I walked over to my neighbor's house and knocked on the door, but there was no one home. They have a man living above their garage, so I knocked on his door. I told him about the cat. He was upset, but in the way one is upset tactically, faced with a practical matter. He called the owner of the cat, who was downtown with his family watching the fireworks. The owner asked him to get rid of the cat before he and his family got home, so the kids wouldn't see.

    The garage man, Jamie, walked with me out to the road to see the cat. He didn't know what he should do. He wanted to wrap the cat up and stow it somewhere. I told him that the cat could live for hours or maybe even all night with its injuries, suffering. I asked him if he had a gun. He didn't. So I told him he needed a shovel, so he could put the cat out its misery. He went and got a shovel.

    I myself have had to put several animals out of their misery in the past, and I know that it is not an easy thing to do. We stood looking at the cat, fireworks all around us, from downtown and the surrounding neighborhoods. He said that he didn't think he could do it. I told him I would, because I couldn't bear the idea of the broken cat living on for who knew how long. It seemed like he was going to hand me the shovel, but he decided against it. He figured it was his place to do the thing, his responsibility. I agreed with him, Candy's dog from 'Of Mice and Men' flashing through my mind. He hesitated for a moment, and then he busted the cat's head open with the shovel.

    He took the cat away to bury it, and I went home, ignoring whatever fireworks were left in the sky.
    If your art doesn't push, you won't get any pull.

  3. #83
    Arcopitcairn, you constantly get tangled in other people's stories, kind of like The Doctor or those guys from Supernatural. First it's that old guy struggling to come to terms with his own helplessness, and then the poor guy living on his own who could barely bring himself to take the cat's life.

    (Few years ago my dog tore open a squirrel. Still feel bad for not quite killing it with the first blow.)

  4. #84
    Quote Originally Posted by Staff Deployment View Post
    Arcopitcairn, you constantly get tangled in other people's stories, kind of like The Doctor or those guys from Supernatural. First it's that old guy struggling to come to terms with his own helplessness, and then the poor guy living on his own who could barely bring himself to take the cat's life.

    (Few years ago my dog tore open a squirrel. Still feel bad for not quite killing it with the first blow.)
    I do feel like a witness most of the time. I'd like to put myself in situations in which I might observe something finer, but I don't know where that is.
    If your art doesn't push, you won't get any pull.

  5. #85

  6. #86
    Gawd, that's horrible. But you write it so beautifully, and the fireworks are a really magical way to frame the sadness of the cat's death. Sorry you had to do/see this, but I thank you for sharing it with us. I can relate in many ways, having put more than my share of animals out of their misery, all in horribly sad circumstances.



  7. #87
    i had to do this once. i still have flashes of guilt for it today, and it happened in 1999. it was a puppy. my puppy.
    it got hit by a car, but only the back 1/2 of her was ran over. she was conscience, too. whimpering. i couldn't bear to hear
    her whimpering like that and i knew there was no way of her surviving. with real sorrow, i twisted her head and snapped her neck
    with my hands. it still eats at me today that i did that. i kind of wish i would have just held her and petted her until she passed
    naturally, even though i know the pup was in great pain.
    "Man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Allan Poe.Ē

  8. #88
    Quote Originally Posted by dale View Post
    i had to do this once. i still have flashes of guilt for it today, and it happened in 1999. it was a puppy. my puppy.
    it got hit by a car, but only the back 1/2 of her was ran over. she was conscience, too. whimpering. i couldn't bear to hear
    her whimpering like that and i knew there was no way of her surviving. with real sorrow, i twisted her head and snapped her neck
    with my hands. it still eats at me today that i did that. i kind of wish i would have just held her and petted her until she passed
    naturally, even though i know the pup was in great pain.
    Good grief. That's awful. Sorry, man.
    If your art doesn't push, you won't get any pull.

  9. #89
    Quote Originally Posted by dale View Post
    i had to do this once. i still have flashes of guilt for it today, and it happened in 1999. it was a puppy. my puppy.
    it got hit by a car, but only the back 1/2 of her was ran over. she was conscience, too. whimpering. i couldn't bear to hear
    her whimpering like that and i knew there was no way of her surviving. with real sorrow, i twisted her head and snapped her neck
    with my hands. it still eats at me today that i did that. i kind of wish i would have just held her and petted her until she passed
    naturally, even though i know the pup was in great pain.
    That's is pretty grim, but look on the brightside, you had the puppy's best interest in mind. Prolonging the suffering would have only been crueler.

  10. #90
    So I quit smoking. Tomorrow will be one month since I smoked a cigarette. Not sure why I quit. Health? The cost of it? Maybe I just wanted to see if I could. I guess I feel pretty satisfied. Iím using the nicotine patch.


    One of the interesting side effects of the nicotine patch is vivid or disturbing dreams. Iíve been having a ton of them over the last month. I had a marvelous sex dream involving my friend Kristen that was so real I can only imagine I accidentally viewed a moment in time in another reality where we were together. Iíve been having a lot of nightmares as well.


    I like nightmares. Iím a horror fanatic, so dreams full of uncoiling black masses, screaming and twitching things, or snapping bloody teeth donít really bother me at all. I usually wake up thinking, whoa, that was cool! But every now and then I have a nightmare of sorrow, which does bother me. Have you ever had one?


    I woke up from one of these dreams at five this morning and could not go back to sleep.


    When one of my grandmothers died, it was my job to fix up her house to sell. My entire family consists and consisted of wholly miserable, unhappy, or generally angry people. My grandmotherís house held no joy for me, no good or warm memories. It was a cold place, and I was alone there. This was not the dream.


    In the dream I was there again, after so many years, alone again there. It was ten or fifteen years in the future, so I was maybe 55 or 58 years old. In the dream I thought about my friends and family as I wandered the empty house. My family were gone, all passed away. My friends were all gone, except Kristen, and she had just moved away out west. I was completely alone in life. I stepped out into the fenced-in back yard. The neighbors were having a childís birthday party in their back yard, even though it was cold outside. It was a joyous occasion. I looked around my back yard and I saw several malnourished dogs. It was my job to feed the dogs, and I had been doing my job well, as there were many bowls of fresh food waiting for them. But the dogs cowered in the far corners of the yard, watching me nervously. I knew in the dream, as I looked at the overflowing bowls of food, that the dogs would not eat it. They would rather have starved than eat the food I provided them. I sat on the back step, listening to the party next door, and I watched the dogs as they wasted slowly away.


    Then I woke up. You see, the problem with that dream is this: I donít know about you all, but there are several parts of my life, both past and expected future that I do not allow myself to ponder because it would be too painful to do so. Iím going to die alone. There are some people who are fated to do that, and I am one of them. That statement, true as it is, in my waking life does not cause me much of a problem. It is an inescapable fact that I have hardened myself against. I have murdered any sorrow that accompanies the bleak vision I have of my dark future. In my waking life I am immune to most anguish. My will protects me from it.


    But in my dreams, my defenses are down, and pain stabs. Itís an alien feeling, and very disconcerting. I donít like those kinds of dreams.


    My job proceeds. I have acclimatized to the work pretty well, and I seem to be growing physically stronger and Iím getting in better shape, albeit in small increments. More importantly, I have learned to wear the customers more loosely. I still detest most of the cretins that come into my store, but I am learning to keep my disgust with them at armís length, so that it does not touch me, and does not affect how I deal with them. It is hard to pretend to not despise someone, but I seem to be getting pretty good at it.


    Still have not been able to write anything. And there are so many things that I would like to write.
    If your art doesn't push, you won't get any pull.

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