Month: February 2017

dear Sleep,

JennyLeave a comment


my relationship with you is complicated. i need you, and you need me, but our time spent together is not very long, nor always pleasant.

Sleep, you tease me in various ways. it wasn’t fair when you tempted me in the middle of an important lecture out of nowhere. i have priorities too, and you need to respect that.

it wasn’t funny when you decided i couldn’t have you when i needed you so much. you led me so kindly into bed but then left me under the cold sheets. three times, this past week, i waited for you because you promised me you’ll be back. i waited until the clock ticked six o’ clock and then until the sun rose. you didn’t come back.

nor was it funny when you brought back bad memories or messed with my dreams. you know i don’t want to see or hear about Latte dying for the 237th time. you know i pray every night in hope that you’ll gift me with delightful and happy scenes. you know on those kinds of nights i wake up bittersweet that you left me so soon. you know it disappoints me when the movies just never decide to start.

okay, i guess i need to apologize, too. when you needed me, i neglected you for the other stuff in my life. i pushed you away for days without knowing i had pushed you away. i’m sorry about that one time i binged on anime, that wasn’t nice.

but Sleep, i can’t give up on you and you can’t give up on me, either. i find myself so depressed and lonely when you’re not there. i love you, you know that, and on our good days we have such a great time together.

dear Sleep, i write because i miss you. i wish we could go back to the times when our relationship felt so natural and true. i’m no one without you.

dear Sleep, be back soon.

love,

jenny

dear Sleep,

cat

Jenny, , , , Leave a comment

Have you ever held a dead cat in your hands before?

It doesn’t feel like the cold hands of your partner in the January chills. It’s not dripping wet, nor is it very hard, like a wooden flooring or a marble kitchen top. Rather, your finger sinks ever so slightly into the skin and the fur until you feel the resistance. Feel the little fleshy bit of skin right next to your elbow bone. Now feel a cold leathery couch. Put the two together. Dead cat.

The feeling is so surreal and so unique that it will haunt you in your dreams. Cat, cat, cat.. dead cat. You will at various times wake up in tears, frantically searching for the warmth and the soft, supple flesh.

At random points on random days of the year, you will remember that blood-draining moment; the dampness you felt as you tried to lift an empty soul into your arms, only to rapidly let go of your grip in its unfamiliar stiffness. There are things that don’t ever seem to wash away on your hands and on the floor where it last lay.

Death is an odd thing. It’s an eraser that leaves a lot of blemishes on the white paper. The words you wrote are supposedly removed, but there are outlines, smears and black shavings all over the place. It’s dirty and ugly. You feel helpless, then frustrated, then resigned, then frustrated again, as you fail to find a different, better eraser.

I try to find dreams where the cat lives, cat. I try not to worry, cat. I try to think about how lovely it is to meet another cat, cat. I hate it when I see you again, dead cat. I wish you wouldn’t appear again, dead cat. Cat, cat, cat. Just cat.

cat