the pickle.

i would like to tell the cat, please stop looking at me like that, it makes me self conscious.

but she continues to stare like i've done something—big, or that she wants to kill me—bad.

this morning in between the time mandi came upstairs to let gizmo go to the loo, pickles managed to sneak her way downstairs.

the cat will hardly move enough to sneeze throughout the day, yet at the first sign of the daylight basement, she's gone!

i looked at her—lounging underneath the foot of the elliptical—and she gave me that look.

i backed away but realized her eyes were telling me something else. like, fuck you mom, stay here, just don't touch me.

in that moment, i totally understood.

yesterday i was thinking it would be magical to share a bottle of two-buck-chuck at one of those parks. i'll take allergy and sinus meds and you bring a story—to tell, and ponder—underneath the sky.