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The Crazy Cat Lady

    I am not well and I now realize the fragile state of my mental health as I sat alone on a Saturday night taking pictures of my cats.  They quickly grew bored with this activity and I moved on to taking self portraits with my phone for a Facebook profile picture that said, "Yes, I'm 46, but I still look 18."  I never actually got that photo, I'm sad to report.  The real problem is not my lack of photography skills or some odd interest in pets, but the fact that my children have reached that age that they are out with friends and no longer need me to order their meals, wipe their mouths or shield their eyes when an evil Disney character comes on screen.  Notice I did not say “pay their way.”  They still need me to do that and my money is being spent by the twenties at ball parks and movie theaters across the city while I sit home alone photographing kittens.  

    Realizing I must come up with a hobby to occupy this sudden onset of free time, I have looked into scrap-booking, on-line cooking courses, and even the possibility of doing the laundry on a Saturday night.  All seem equally depressing.  Fridays and Saturdays have taken on new meaning to me and I have to accept that my kids are having a wonderful time doing all the things we used to do together. 

    My friend suggested that I put the kitten photos into a calendar.  I toyed with this idea for a bit and  think my calendar should only have Fridays and Saturdays in.  One hundred and four very important days each year that children should focus on and not forget about the moms that sit at home alone secretly tracking them with the latest iPhone application and a topographic map.  Knowing that this would never sell, I took to my bed.

      I was lying there in the comforts of my self-pity with the pillows packed all around attempting to surf the net, not knowing what I was really looking for.  I had heard about chat rooms and wondered what might be there. I discovered that HotMama62 was cooking fish-sticks for her kids and CapnJD422 had enjoyed a hot dog for dinner.  Somehow I thought it would be a bit more risque than that.  It wasn’t.  I’m sure there are more specific sites for such, but I’m scared I might run into my two new carnivorous friends there and they might be dressed like ponies or something equally freaky.  I just don’t understand all that chat lingo and multiple on-going conversations about nothing.  I scratched  that one off my list of possible things to do.  I readjusted the pillows, placing the laptop a bit higher  so I could type from a supine position and eliminate the need for all spinal support or large motor skills.  That’s about the time I dropped the laptop on my face, leaving me with a lovely black eye.   I would like to point out that people don't believe you when you try to explain away a black eye by telling them you dropped your laptop on your face.  It's obvious that there are three things they are thinking at the end of that conversation:   1.  Idiot    2.  Her husband did it    3. Idiot      

    So... as my children are packing my twenties, my husband is away at deer camp and I can’t appear in public with a shiner, I sit home alone on a Saturday night making kitty calendars and sizing up the laundry pile.  My God - I’m slowly turning into the crazy cat lady at the end of the street!


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