And Then There Was One

The little angel went back to school on January 3. 

Beloved started his new job on January 7.

After three months of never being alone, I'm suddenly alone during the workday again. 

Beloved said the other day how fast that three months went -- the longest he's ever been out of work since maybe his newspaper route. I said I thought it went fast because we were both so actively trying not to focus on it at all. If I'd focused on it, I would've had a full-scale nervous breakdown. But I didn't, and I didn't. 

Isn't that amazing?

In the quiet, the anxiety pops into my head over the smallest things. This morning I took the little angel with me to take Kizzy to the vet for a limp he developed overnight. I got there before the vet opened and somehow between waiting our turn and the x-ray they took that cost $120, took two hours and turned up absolutely nothing, the anxiety expanded in my chest until suddenly I was pacing in the exam room and yelling at the little angel and so angry I could punch this vet who was wasting my valuable time and making my daughter late for school and me late for work when I could hear him helping other patients when all he had to do was look at the fucking X-ray already. 

I heard my own voice after I told the little angel to LEAVE KIZZY ALONE HE IS NOT FEELING WELL as she tried to pick him up for the 83rd time in the eighty minutes we'd been trapped in that room and tried to focus my thoughts. I thought about what I sounded like to myself, even in my head. My whole inner monologue was totally I AM AN ASSHOLE.

I told my girl I was worried about Kizzy and worried about how much work I was missing and worried about how much this was all going to cost. I got myself under control enough that when the vet started saying things like growth plates not closed and maybe have to refer him for surgery before he said or it could be a soft tissue thing, I did not yell at him. I said I'd put Kizzy in a room where he couldn't jump or mess with Buttensworth for a few days and see if his limp got better. Then I drove my daughter to school and was nice to the secretary, who looked at me strangely when I told her we'd been at the vet. 

Then I drove home and looked at the clock and started dragging things out of the playroom to make it safer for Kizzy and the pillow fell off the American Girl bed as I was carrying too much for one trip and I lost it. My reaction was completely out of line with what was happening -- my managers are angels, nobody was yelling at me, I could work late to make up for lost time, my daughter didn't miss library time like she was worried about, and it's most possible there is nothing wrong with my little black cat but a sprain or strain that some isolation would fix, no problem. It's not like he has late-stage diabetes and is going to need to be put down tomorrow like Petunia, or has acute kidney failure and can't pee anymore like Bella or has thyroid problems and chronic kidney failure like Sybil. The cat has a goopy eye and a limp, which should be a fucking walk in the park for us.

Despite of all these non-problems, I found myself there on the floor of the hall for a little while, having a good cry, letting some of the pressure that's built up while not thinking about what could happen for the last three months seep out through my ears. 

When I got done, I noticed how quiet it was. And then I went downstairs and opened my laptop and went back to work.