It’s funny the manifestations that pain takes while you’re sleeping. Last night I woke up around 1 o’clock after sleeping only two hours or so. I was sick to my stomach, and I was aware of this fact, yet somehow the sensation of pain did not register to me as “stomachache”, but as a man selling two base cabinets to the Phantom of the Opera.
As completely irrational as that sounds, somehow in the middle of the night it is a perfect parallel. It is nice, I think, to know that even in the in the wee hours of the morning my Crazy Jarboe tendencies are still in full force.
We have a kitten, Allius (That Other One)–the counterpart to Nemo (No One)–whose favorite pastime of late is biting The Hand That Feeds Her. Her second favorite pastime is harassing Nemo, who makes an odd strangled noise whenever the kitten comes too close, and beats her with paws rendered useless by the declawing process. I suppose it’s rather sadistic, but I really enjoy watching the cat get frazzled by the kitten, who seems to have no idea whatsoever that her presence is so bothersome. Allius does flips and pirouettes, and chases nothing in particular, and I think Nemo is learning the fine art of growing eyes in the back of her head.