the pit

I had a history teacher in high school who sometimes referred to The Pit of Despair. As in, “If you don’t turn in your term paper outlines on time, you will fall into The Pit of Despair.”

Of course I was a good kid who turned in my outline punctually, but I had a taste of life in The Pit—maybe not Of Despair, but it was some sort of pit—this week when AK and I moved. Although I was highly organized physically (it’s a coping mechanism), and can now proudly point to assembled Ikea furniture and hung pictures as evidence that we have officially and successfully moved in…the evidence lies.

Our internet still doesn’t work, no matter how much I poke the modem with a stick (the extent of my IT skills); our back patio is waist-deep in empty boxes; I’ve been living off Christmas cookies and goat cheese balls; and AK and I have been completely irritable, disconcerted and at various moments, yes, even despairing.

The second day in the house, OC—who was sequestered in the office with Temecula and had not met Ferdinand yet—saw another cat outside the window. He freaked out and beat up T-Mec, and they’ve been at each other’s furry little throats ever since (although now that they’ve met Ferdinand, they like him just fine, miraculously).

It was actually kind of comforting to see my cats, who normally share food and lick each other’s ears, turn on each other. I told myself, “All mammals have trouble adjusting to new situations and sometimes take it out on the ones they love.”

OC and T-Mec have yet to cuddle, but they seem to have struck a cautious truce. I’m back at work. It’s nice to have DSL and a little structure. I’m crawling out of The Pit, bruised and blinking in the sun.