my life, even my earthquake - unfair

snif !

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)?

Uneaten.

Why not that photo instead?

Why the only photo I have of my dad kissing me?

Why?

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?