pameladean

I still felt dragged out on Tuesday. Water, Vitamin C, rest again. I took Ari to the vet for shots. David had agreed the day before that he could probably arrange his schedule to give us a ride over there and back again, but he forgot completely. The appointment was for three; when I called him on his cellphone at two, he was with Elise in the wilds of South St. Paul, picking up jewellery supplies. I'd have been pretty mad if I'd asked him sooner and confirmed with him a time or two, but I hadn't mentioned it when he came upstairs to scavenge tortillas from the upstairs kitchen, so I wasn't really very upset. My memory is much worse, most days.

I called Rainbow Cab at 2:30; they were there in fifteen minutes and we were just a bit early for the appointment. Ari was good (no biting, hissing, or struggling), though not cooperative (he had to be extracted from the carrier and showed a tendency to climb up people's bodies in an attempt to hide, poor mite.) The vet tech exclaimed at one point, "He's so cute!" and then said, "And he's purring!"

He's basically well, though they told me to take him to a groomer for his mats. If they only knew. I've been working on him for weeks and there are only three left. I have to deal with the grooming when he's asleep. He hates to be messed with in any fashion and he is very wilful. They also said he needs his teeth cleaned, and I'll probably let them do that.

A flurry of email with Eric about how the next few months are likely to go in terms of his schedule, and my expression of what he kindly called "chagrin" rather than, oh, say, "whininess," resulted in his saying, look, he actually didn't have to be on campus tomorrow until 2:30, so why didn't I come over tonight?

We decided not to try to have dinner together. I got a fair amount of laundry, dishes, and book-glaring done, and Raphael and I even crammed in one episode of "Buffy." David complained mildly that these last-minute dates were confusing, but finding out I didn't have a ride to the vet after all was confusing too, so we were even and very amiable about it.

I got to Eric's about nine-thirty. I'd expected him to have to do some studying, but he said he'd do it the next day before class. There followed one of those extraordinary times one is gifted with occasionally, with friends and lovers both. I couldn't describe it well even if this were not so public a forum. It had conversation and music and a cat. I can name the music: Robyn Hitchcock's "Eye," Ani DiFranco's "Puddle Dive," played twice so I could read the lyrics through the second time; and Ani DiFranco's "Little Plastic Castle," by which time we were smarter, or less distracted, and I read the lyrics the first time through. I can name the cat, too, of course; it was Toliman, who purred and pounced and was his companionable self. It's a good thing he likes Ani DiFranco. I can't name the rest of it. Well, it was love, of course, but that's a very large word, and I fear it won't remind me in ten years what I was on about here.

Conceivably I won't need any reminder. It doesn't feel I will just at the moment.

Pamela