multiple choice

I am sitting here waiting for the tranks to settle in ooze into my veins take over...had a small breakdown meltdown silent sob in the catbox room...which carried on into the bathroom, trailed me through the kitchen, and sat down with me on the chair here, where I opened a message board, a second message board, then this blank page. I care not what my counter says - I usually snoop, but really, it doesn't matter.
Yesterday while driving home from the Doctor from Hell, I thought to myself that after my youngest cat goes across the rainbow bridge, I shall follow shortly thereafter. They'd have had a good run, I'd have had a good run, and that is that. I understand that I don't solely exist to feed them care for them clean their catbox, but there is little else that I am contributing to anything. Period. I look forward to the time by myself, and then get lonely, and then am out with other people and while there, wish to be anywhere but there, wish to be at home, wish to be at ease. A few tranks slip down my gullet, and I'm "safe" for a while longer, and I get to this place - the yawning the openness of nothingness the indifference - and then, tears.
My friend Jacks says I should get out more...I question "where?" I've been where there is to be here, I know there isn't anyplace else to be - in the sense that if I were in another city, I could be someplace "new" - its all the same scene. There are bowling alleys everywhere, and I'm not interested. I can't afford to do anything - join a club with similar interests, nor do I care about the "similar interest" clubs. I find myself more and more without "interests" and if someone asked me what my hobbies were, I'd have to remain mute, for what I do doesn't carry any passion, anything more than one thing after the other, something to fill time. I exist day to day, trying to accomplish some small thing to keep my hands busy, to track the time, to stack beside. And its not enough to make me want to stay.
I was at my sister's today, brother in law's birthday celebration. All is normal. I come home, and whilst cleaning the catbox, I think about how there is nobody here to make me a tea when I'm done, or share in the taking out the garbage duties, or lean over my shoulder and ask me what I'm doing. I've nobody to eat with. I've got nobody to wait for me. Nobody is going to surprise me and do the dishes, vacuum, or ask me how I'm feeling. I could fall over dead right now and it would take at least a week for somebody to notice I'm dead - nobody drops by on a regular basis, and if the phone doesn't get answered or an email doesn't get a response, its no big deal. If I don't blog for a week, nobody will send out a search party. It's pointless. The cats might raise enough of a racket to alert my neighbors, after they weren't fed for a few days. They might. I sit here in my silence and listen to the life that goes on around me...the neighbors downstairs, average age of 17, and remember myself at 17...I don't think I saw myself HERE at comin' up 40. I think that, had I known that, I would have carried out on the various plans to end things fair and square.
I remember living in a house on Robinson when I was 18, and there was a woman there who had, after 25 years of marriage and three grown children, was reduced to living in a light housekeeping room. She would talk about her previous life as if it weren't hers, as if it were somebody else that had those memories, as if this living arrangement was a glitch in an othewise carefully planned full life. I remember thinking that "that's not going to be me when I'm that old...I hope." Yet here I go.

There is nothing and nobody. I care for my cats.

xoxo
lili