I'm back home. Well, my current home, as opposed to my family/city-of-origin home, where I was last week.
Sadly, when Boyfriend and I returned to our apartment, our worst fears were confirmed - his coughing, wheezing, I-can't-breathe thing is definitely because of Cat. We had hoped it was something else: a virus, infection, whooping cough, anything that could be improved without the removal of our darling girl, but it was not to be. The woman who sold her to me picked her up on Saturday. Cat cried. I cried. It was traumatic.
Aside from that, I suppose it is good being back. I had a bit of a hard time leaving my family so I am not as relieved to be home as I usually am after those kinds of trips. I just feel sad. It seems rather obvious to attribute the sadness to my father's death, as these are the first holidays without him, but I am not psychoanalyzing myself much. Just sad.
On the bright side:
*My trip home yielded tons of ancient family photos that I scanned and kept for myself. I learned, for instance, what my paternal great grandmother looked like. I also got tons of pictures of my father as a child, and am enjoying pointing out comparisons between his looks and those of myself and my sisters.
*In the next two weeks, I'm going to two Christmas parties, one birthday party and one cookie baking party.
*I finally finished all the knitting for my little sisters, so I can get back to knitting for other people by Christmas.
*It is winter, and therefore I am free to spend my nights and weekends in pajamas, reading, writing, knitting, listening to music, watching movies, sipping hot chocolate or any combination of these. In other words, winter is the time for hibernation, and the only time of year where my homebodiness as an alternative to social ineptitude becomes socially accepted. Thank you, Sister Winter.