Life's little Tricks

It never surprises me how high the cat can jump. Often, I find myself wishing I was the cat. A life of eating, sleeping, and dealing with the frustration of trying to catch birds who fly away when they hear the tinkering of the bell on your collar.

(Is this really the reason they fly away? Can birds even hear things? Incidentally, last Sunday before we left to drive to the snow, we opened the front door and the cat had left us a charming present on the doormat: a dead sparrow. In place of its eaten out body were the bloody remnants of flesh that surrounded its bones, and its head and tail were still intact. Boy was quick to throw it into the garden before I could throw up.)

I wonder if the cat ever gets sick, confused and frustrated of his life. If he has any issues and complications to deal with. If he is always happy. Is he ever happy? Or does he live that way just because he knows nothing else?

Life is funny. Last night, I browsed through the entries of my older journal and briefly stopped on the entry of Mike's first phonecall. I remembered how excited I had been, and how special I had felt. How naive I was.

For a moment, I missed the sensations that you could feel in your youngness and naivity: the anticipation a beep of the phone that could be a text message from a guy you thought wanted you (but in reality all he wanted was sex) could cause; the butterflies in the pit of your stomach that arose when you thought about playing silly glancing and smiling games with the cute lighting guy in the club - who had the greatest smile; and how a simple phonecall from a sleazy drunk could make you feel special.

Later, my cellphone rang. Life's little trick to put me in the nostalgic place of one year and three months ago was unsuccessful. My phone ringer is no longer set to "mixed".

The caller was a drunken Mike. Calling to say hi, or "touch base" as he put it.

"Are you drunk?" I asked him.

"Well, yes... but what's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, you only ever call me when you're drunk."

"That's not true!"

"So, where's Melissa. Has she left?"

"Yeah, she left yesterday. It was really sad."

"Right. So she left yesterday, and you're calling me today..."

"What, what are you saying?"

"Nothing."

He accused me of making too much of insignificant things. Then we talked, about nothing in particular. I should visit him, he said. We should go drinking sometime. I am cool, and then I am a geek. I have a busy schedule, and then I have nothing to do. It bothers me how he actually tries to have a conversation when he is drunk. He doesn't sound drunk. He doesn't talk drunk. The only time you realise he is drunk is when he contradicts himself. Or when you say something ordinary, and he finds it offensive, and you find yourself feeling bad for saying it, and wondering if it was offensive.

After he hung up, I thought about his drinking invitation. A year ago, I would have been over the moon, and accepted it without thought or hesitation. Now, things were different. Boy would not like it, this I knew. If I really wanted to go, he would (grumpily) let me, but he would still not like it. And then there is the issue of controlling my drinking. Mike can be very persuasive, and make you drink more than you want to. When I am very very drunk, I forget things that happen. One night, after many $9 Jack Daniels shots at a bar, I apparently got with two guys. (This was the same day I got lost. It is not a day I want to remember.) I did not remember getting with either.

I do not trust myself to be drunk without Boy. Neither does he.

And Boy does not trust Mike. He will not believe that his intentions (if ever going out with me alone) could be simply for a friendly night out.

So, it seems that drinking will be out of the question.

This bothered me somewhat - the idea that I couldn't do now what I once would have been able to. It wasn't the fact that I actually wanted to go out drinking with Mike (he's not the best company drunk), but more the fact that my life had changed so much. I never liked change, even if I knew it was for the better, I never liked it initially.

The feeling passed over quickly.

Even nostalgia cannot convince me that life without Boy was better than life now. If someone paid me to relive my past, I would not do it.

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