Impatience killed the cat

Our cat is called Tipper. No, this is not a tribute to the almost-first lady Tipper Gore. It just fits. 

Tipper would never compromise her needs. She sleeps when and where she needs and wants to, she eats as needed, she hunts, runs, dreams, plays whenever and wherever her mood tells her to. She insists on being fed or stroked no matter what. 

Tipper has lived with us for a couple of years now. I still haven’t managed to pick up the lesson she’s trying to teach me.

This week seems to be “depressed annoyed unmotivated procrastination-week”. Even though this has been predicted, it still feels terrible. Throw-backs always do. Everything feels like a waste of time (and I don’t mean in a good way), like nobody cares, like it’s all not good anyway. It is so easy to go back to the I will show you nothing of my real self-mode – after all, I’ve practised it for years. It takes so much to take myself seriously…

 

 


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