My erstwhile cat Fiona had her litter of kittens, but she and they are no longer with me. Since 99% of people won't understand where I'm coming from (or perhaps, more accurately, that I'm not up to the task of making clear my perspective), I won't bother to explain what happened. The short version is that there were some health issues, but now everything has been resolved. Fiona and her four kittens are being fostered by a dedicated volunteer until all five of them can be eventually re-homed.
I thought that a new cat and the new life of kittens—life I had no responsibility in creating but could nevertheless nurture and take care of—would energize and enrich me as I enter a phase of protracted sobriety. It was simply my fault for thinking existence could be something other than cruel, ignominious and worthless by nature of its endemic suffer. I once again descended into realms of emotion that I had never wanted to see again. I try so hard to deceive myself, like everybody does, but the cold, hard facts of reality are always there lurking in the background.
The State of Things
Even though I started the day feeling better after finally getting some sleep, I spontaneously burst into tears at work yesterday afternoon. No one saw me, but that's less than optimal professional behavior. It happened again at home last night. But tears are useless, as is grief. The only thing that astounds me is that I managed to get through with my sobriety intact. It certainly wasn't my intent at the time. I had every notion of drinking as soon as humanly possible once the dust settled. But for some reason I didn't. I can't really credit good judgment or strength of character, but I'm glad of it all the same.
