A chance rejection of poor Max made me realize (as in, a light bulb went nuclear) that his story has eaten my plot. So I trashed something like ten chapters (Yes!), realizing that they were the equivalent of his baby book: You only want to see that stuff if you are already enamored of Max. Now this leaves me with the problem of how to make you enamored of Max without starting with the one-celled Phalutagemickis of his Tricenjurassic past. Oy. At least this leaves me with what for me is a happy thing–I no longer have to worry about how long it is!

* * * * *

The whole faith thing has expanded to the point where I’m considering going back to chanting Nam myoho renge kyo as a sort of meditation. Last time I did this, my life exploded, which was probably all a coincidence, but I am still looking at the beautiful liturgy and beads a friend sent me, all sitting nice and quiet on my nightstand, and telling myself not to be a scaredy cat. Maybe my life needs to be exploded; what do I know?

* * * * *

My therapist listened to me rant about the hatefulness of my job for a few sessions, and then suggested I take a vacation. After I experienced what for me is an early warning sign of Bad Stuff (i.e., I took a mental health day), I decided to be obedient and compliant and whatnot, and am taking off for the first two weeks of June. This is unpaid leave, and as such won’t involve tropical islands or anything, but at the very least the only crazy people I have to deal with are my beloveds in my inner circle. And me. Very much me, that being the point.

* * * * *

My beautiful 11-year-old cat has cancer, and I am mordantly amused by how this has affected us. The Big C has a numinous presence that has totally turned around how we treat her, let alone think about her. Much tiptoeing and overindulging–good thing we also brought home a major toy for Zoe, who has been on Rip’s butt ever since she stepped out of the carrier.

Ripley had surgery a week and a half ago at the awesome Alliance for Animals, and they got it all, but warned us of probable recurrence. She seems to be her old self, if not better now that she doesn’t have a lump in her mouth, but has gotten really spoiled, because we had her on cat soup (Yes, they make cat soup) while she was healing, and now it’s nose up at most *wet* food, let alone *shudder* kibble. We are delighted, but we all hear the mortality ticking. I’m prone to hearing that as it is, so for now we love the hell out of her and try not to think about it.

* * * * *

And that’s a wrap. Time to head off for a board meeting, instead of my writers’ group, which is so much fun I’d frankly rather be doing that, but being a grownup sucks. So it goes.