My mother has a friend who breeds aquatic beasts for a living. Well, her husband does. My mother’s friend is keen on giving some of these beasts to my daughter.

The three catfish she gave us have all passed away. They did not adapt well to the fish tank…rather, they did not adapt well to the humungous goldfish that inhabit the fish tank. One by one, over the course of three weeks, our catfish became floaters. Cyd has learned the horrible truth about life, that it inevitably comes to an end — more rapidly for some than others. We have said our prayers over the catfish and ceremonially flushed them into the cesspool of eternity.

The two turtles, however, refuse to turn belly-up. Damn them.

Each day, these two turtles (currently measuring about 3″) slam themselves against the plastic prison that is their habitat and climb all over each other for food. We hand-feed them…holding out a reptile pellet until one or the other grabs hold of it. Given their druthers, they’d eat non-stop. But I refuse to spend my entire day holding out pellets for hard-shelled cockroaches.

As if I didn’t have enough to do in my day, I have to clean their habitat, too. But being the practical type I simply take the habitat outside and flush out the old, crapped-in water with fresh water straight from the tap. The turtles get mighty confused when there’s a sudden gush of water spilling over their beloved rocks. Turtles must have high stress thresholds because even this hasn’t killed them off.

They also need their own sunlight, since the sunlight in my house is not intense enough for their tastes. Cyd’s father donated one of his desk lamps to the cause. So every afternoon when I come home I have to flip this lamp on so they can warm their poor, cold bodies. I have toyed with the thought of removing the desk lamp, but I’m not one to let living things suffer no matter how badly I want them to croak.

Right now, in fact, they are swimming in their habitat, their front flipper thingies clawing at the plastic prison, their necks straining above the water, demanding I do the pellet thing. Sigh. It’s not even 7am.

Dammit!

Here I sit, waiting out my nightly facial routine, catching up on blogs after playing City Of Heroes, my newfound favorite game (thanks to Sushi, an old gaming pal from waaaaay back when). There are a bunch of us old gaming pals from waaaay back when playing this thing, but I’ve yet to find them. I think it will be hilarious when we all meet within the backstreets of Paragon City. We haven’t played together (meaning, all of us) in years.

I put Cyd to bed at 9:30pm — that is, she fell asleep in bed at 9:30pm. I’ve now had one and a half luscious hours to be completely alone with my thoughts and my angst. It is heaven. I feel like I am recharging. I fee like I am becoming normal again.

Nate, a great guy whom I met through Star Wars: Galaxies, called tonight but fell asleep almost instantly. Poor guy’s been working a 40-hour week in the past three days. I sung him a lullaby and hung up. I did not want to hear him snore.

Dustin says his “kick-ass” shirt arrived today. I saw it and thought he would like it. The fact that it is “kick-ass” is flattering. Then again I have a knack for finding “kick-ass” clothing for men. I have a harder time finding anything flattering for myself :/

Truth is, I’d rather be singing a lullabye to Dustin…but he’s busy, so I’ll just have to wait

I am now back to a normal schedule at work except for those days when I am slam-dunking doctor visits. I drop Cyd off at school at 7:50am, then head to my office. I’m out of there by 3:00pm to get home, unwind a bit, then pick Cyd up at 5:00pm. All in all, it is a reasonable day. I’m liking this a lot. Even the thought of facing endless weekends working in alien environments to put on concerts is no longer demonic — and Cyd is now at an age where she can accompany me to most shows. Barring this, the neighbors have graciously agreed to pitch in to watch her while I am gone. Her two best friends, Jurnee and Kaikea, live in our building. They are also the products of single parents. It is good to be bonding with them and sharing childcare duties. I seem to be finding this fresh and exciting all over again…yes, even the part about having four or five children running in and out of my house all afternoon! Hah!

On Monday I have a mammogram, a follow-up visit with my internist on my lipid profiles (guess who has to go back on cholesterol medication) and an apppointment with my OB/GYN to discuss the mysterious pain near my left ovary. Considering I have a history of fibroids, I’m not concerned.

Well, facial routine has come to an end. I am going to moisturize and go to bed. Y’all have a great day!

It is never an appealing thing to knowingly make someone homeless. The part of me that is more used to repairing problems than creating them cannot reconcile that I have just sent my own daughter’s father packing to parts unknown, where the medications he needs make him a prime target for robbery while he sleeps. Do I know where his next meal will come from? Do I know if the present cold weather will give him pneumonia? Do I know if he will find the help he needs to keep some sort of roof over his head in the rain?

Just because I no longer love him, just because I can no longer tolerate having him in my hovel, does not mean I do not care about this human being. We have a child together; we are not enemies. I care, and it takes every ounce of my resolve to be okay with the decision I have made. I hope things go well.

His things will be packed away this week and placed in a storage locker conveniently situated near wherever it is he prefers to wander. He will have a key. He will be able to access the books that he so loves, some fresh clothes, his pictures of his daughter, the miscellaneous items he choses to cherish. I will be sure the storage is paid for — what’s $35/month for a meager collection of worldly goods for a man who has virtually lost every shred of dignity he ever had? I cannot keep him in my space. But I cannot deny him some small shred of self-worth in a world that really does not care who he is or how he lives or dies.

I cannot help feeling sad and inhumane. Yet I know this is the right thing to do. I am taking the day off from work today because I have not slept well, have not eaten well, have not felt well since Saturday when I told him to leave. With time I will feel better. Right now, I feel like shit.

Thank you, Dustin. Talking to you about anything makes me feel so much better. You are much more than Eye Candy, hon.

And thank you, Nate and May…you affirm so much in me each time we talk. As the friends in my life struggle with the illness of our own good friend, whom we pray we will have around for a longer time than we know in our heads is realistic, you three have become my support in a most unexpected way. I adore you. You have no idea.

Pray for Cyd. I need to get her through this.