So I got the stupid cat. I named him Pajamas, and I'm preparing him for the internet as a meme sensation. In fact, this site might slowly transition from graffiti and street art to cat memes. But peace no longer reigns. This wild teenage animal that I brought into my home has established himself as the dominant being by napping on the kitchen counter, knocking everything off my shelves, using my bike tires as a scratching post, staring me down from across the room, trying to eat my toes, and demanding I fill his food bowl every 45 minutes. He's about 12 pounds of rambunctious, snotty and sarcastic adolescence. My downstairs neighbors even reported me under suspicion of bringing a water buffalo into the building.
I think I adopted him out of depression. I'm still in my millennial blues funk and deeply entrenched in bad habits. The list of things I do while in job transition is hardly extensive. I throw scrabble tiles around the apartment for my cat to chase because I don't have a laser pointer. I found my car on Google Earth. I listen to My Dad Wrote a Porno and The Power Trip Morning Show. I talk on the phone, eat bowls and bowls of oatmeal, lay on my couch watching British reality television series' on Youtube, and search for funny memes.
I spent hours looking at memes until I learned how to make them, and then I forgot about the memes already polluting the internet. Now I create my own and aggressively market them to my friends and family. Most of them are esoteric ironies that only specific people will understand. At least I don't have a relationship through all of this to distract me from meming and blogging about meming. Boyfriends just get in the way of existential quandaries and Time Wasting Activities (TWA), anyway.
Boyfriends are like beans. I enjoy them at first. Then they make me uncomfortable, and I wait for them to go away. Keeping lovers at arms-length is the least dramatic solution to having a sex life. Never let a fling develop into a relationship. We can talk about our hopes and dreams, go to the movies and batting cages, have romp, but at the end of the day I can say, "Alright go home now. Talk to you next week." I don't have time for more than that. I'm a parent now. I'm a cat mom trying to reestablish peace and stability, and I've already learned that Pajamas does not like men. Especially when they sleep with his mother.
Catfish in the Mud
I went to Namibia and took a tour of Sossusvlei, where it hasn't rained in 6 years. The river is completely dried up. My guide told me that even in the six-year drought, catfish are hibernating deep down in the mud and will surface again when the rains come back and restore life to the desert. I didn't believe him at first, like I didn't believe in the mysterious fairy circles on the dunes. But now the idea of catfish in the mud has become a metaphor for the things trapped on the inside and down below that wait for the rains to give them some vigor and life. Catfish in the Mud is a pretty standard millennial blog in which I say mostly nothing in about 300 words.