Besieged

I slept on the couch last night. And this morning, have been hit with little flickering nanoseconds that make me say, "I should have known she was sick. I should have paid attention!" Because she hadn't pestered me at my desk for two weeks. That she'd been living inside the otherwise empty Dyson vacuum cleaner box. That she hadn't pestered me in the bathroom. Or shown her displeasure at the state of the cat boxes. So many things. Too many things.

I was sitting on the couch, drinking my coffee, when I was overwhelmed by an intense need to...go to Costco.

Oh, the old school run-to-Costco! How many years ago was the last one that I could afford? I don't know, but I'm sure it was probably sometime before December 31, 2002.

And this morning, I thought, I would love to go to Costco. To buy things I didn't even know I needed, but would appreciate once I got home. Packs of toothpaste. A waffle iron. Packs of deodorant. Ten pounds of basmati rice, which is actually a conservative amount. Nearly two hundred pounds of cat litter, which is also a conservative amount. A wireless printer / copier / scanner. A new digital camera, since my old one died without notice. Ridiculous things. Four packs of NY strip steaks. Fabulous things. A gazillion-thread set of sheets for my bed. And no doubt things I had no idea even existed.

I've finally learned to recognize this feeling. This is a reaction to feeling besieged, to feeling like the barbarians are not just at the gate but pounding down the front door. It's a strong reaction and it's almost impossible to control. The only way to control it is to stay at home and pace until I've worn myself out.

But I haven't done that. Yeah, I know it's ten o'clock in the morning and to you, the day is young. To me, the day is half-done.

I went to the diner for breakfast. Then I went to Dunkin' Donuts and bought two dozen donuts. Before I left the house, I'd gathered up all the supplies left over from Phoebe's and Katy's illnesses, things that hadn't been used or used up. I went to the vet's office and handed over the donuts and unused medical supplies. I thanked them for all the breaks they've cut me, for all the times they rushed me to the front of the line.

I also wanted to check on something. I like to thing I'm cool and calm in the face of disaster. Last evening, I kind of lost my head. Katy was so horribly sick so horribly fast. I was at a loss for a moment of what to do. (I still have to keep reminding myself that I didn't kill Katy by anything I did. That the poor pussycat would have been dead within the week, anyway. It's hard to remember that.) I was afraid that I'd gone all hysterical in the vet's reception area. I don't really remember because it all happened so quickly but I wanted to make sure that I hadn't gone in all hysterical and upset everyone in the overcrowded waiting room.

According to someone who was there last evening, she hadn't even heard me. That was a relief.

I delivered the donuts. I said thank you a dozen times.

On my way back, I stopped at a yard sale and spent ten whopping dollars. I bought an armload of CDs for about .75 each. John Mayer, Room for Squares. Maroon 5. Switchfoot. Train. En Vogue. (I know. But yes, En Vogue.) I was very happy to find all this music that I like but wouldn't pay $15 for apiece.

That has satisfied most of my acquisition lust, although I can't answer for it if I find my way to the Salvation Army Store today.

This is another "Everyone's gone to the moon" weekend, although according to the traffic reports, most of them have ended up at exit 8A on the Turnpike.