This morning I woke up and walked through my kitchen to the bathroom.
There I contemplated my bad dreams for about five minutes.
Then I walked back through the kitchen to see the ONLY photo I know to exist of me and my dad (that conveys any real affection between us - me, a one year old sitting in her high chair, my dad in his hat, clearly just home from work - bending down to kiss me) laying on the floor, shredded, scratched, chewed, and actually in half.
The missing half is being digested by my cat, Scout, right now.
That's quite a snack.
When I saw this I shrieked.
It was unbelievable.
Thankfully, our faces (mine, my dad's - happy faces - now stupid, almost eaten faces) are still intact. If you can call it that.
I had had this and about five other photos in my date book in my hand bag.
My hand bag was on the kitchen table - where I left it when I got home from work yesterday.
Oddly, I had had a conversation at work the day before about that very photo.
I had no idea that would be the last time I would see it like that. Square. Clear. Uneaten.
I had it in my date book for a few weeks. I was showing a friend at work my niece's graduation photo.
Then she and another person saw the other photos and asked to see them. I told them how this was my favorite photo of my dad.
I have been having issues with photos lately - and they have been well documented in this blog.
This was one of the photos I used to recreate my childhood kitchen (also documented in my blog).
Meanwhile, Scout has shown no remorse.
She really did have to dig though my bag, too - to find this photo.
The neighboring photo (in my date book) with no people in it - of my dad's teen aged bedroom in the late fifties (where he had what can only be described as a wet bar)?
Why not that photo instead?
Why the only photo I have of my dad kissing me?
So, I put what was left of that photo in a drawer.
Maybe I will recreate it in a drawing. That would make sense.
That almost inspires me..
Oh, and there was an earthquake yesterday.
And somehow I missed it.
Even though I was wide awake at the time.
This bothered me all day, yesterday.
Everyone at work said they felt it. Everyone had stories about it
I just couldn't understand how I could miss something like an earthquake.
Am I that wrapped up in my petty problems?
Then, last night, I remembered something.
That moment, early Friday morning, when I silently, hatefully, self righteously deemed my downstairs neighbors supreme assholes for stomping continuously (drunks!) up the back stairs at 4:45 in the morning?
That was probably the earthquake.
As well, that moment of concern (terror) when I felt certain that someone was in our kitchen - that was probably the earthquake, too.
And the way the cats were bolting around and crying and seemed like they were trying to tell me something - earthquake, all earthquake.
I feel a round of "this is my earthquake - this is your earthquake", coming on.
We don't have earthquakes in Chicago.
So when we have one (and we didn't actually have one - it was down state, way downstate) or anything related to one - we make it ours.
Because in Chicago - it's us, not you. Always.
Oh, and when I heard the dishes clinking in the sink - that was the earthquake, too.
And when my rent was late because because I forgot that the check was in my date book (the very same date book of the photos)?
That was the earthquake, too.
See how that works?