Sixty-something woman shares ruminations as she plys the latter third of her life with the caveat that age entitles her to be absolutely outrageous whenever possible.
Monday, August 20, 2012
What it feels like to be me, today...
It is one year from the day I walked with the Boo into the emergency vet, only to have to put him down four hours later. I am sad and angry and kind of all over the place at the moment, as you can see. Need more black pigment. Crazy world. Someone, at the art supply store for God's sake, nailed it. Boo was my "soul dog". Punk and the Pickle are sweet and marvelous company, but they will never fill the vacancy left in my heart when Boo died. So I will keep slapping paint around, wailing a little every so often, and just being all prickly, for a while.