Stupid cold...

That's my excuse for having been an absent blogger. I swear it has nothing to do with being lazy and opting to lay on the couch reading and napping instead of sorting out the myriad thoughts in my head and getting them down on paper. Or screen, as the case may be.

I had the sniffles. Now I have the sinus congestion. I sound not unlike The Family Guy's Lois.

Peetah.
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This morning the face of an absolutely gorgeous little girl with chubby cheeks and great big brown eyes greeted me from the front cover of The Toronto Star. About 7 months old, she was found face-down in the freezing cold stairwell of a Toronto strip mall, whimpering. And abandoned.

Abandoned.

They still don't know who she is. No one has identified this precious little soul. No one wants her back enough to claim her.

It makes my heart ache when children are discarded like this. It makes me want to scream until my throat bleeds at the unfairness of a world where some people make babies so easily and so frequently that they just drop off the extras in staircases like unwanted kittens, and other people spend thousands of dollars and years of their lives trying to make just one healthy, take-home baby. And sometimes never succeed.

There is no fair. There is only the lot you're given.
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I've been having some wild dreams lately.

The other night, while Britney Spears and I were looking for snacks in my Mom and Dad's basement while we folded laundry, she casually told me that I reeeeeally needed to cover all the gray in my hair.

If anyone can decipher that one, please let me know.
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The other day I wrote a scathing post about Bush and his 900+ lies, but My Beloved suggested I not post it.

Party pooper.
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We took My Beloved's parent's cat to the vet this week to have an ingrown claw looked at (gross).

She was My Beloved's cat once upon a time (and he still thinks of her as his), but she's lived with my in-laws for 9 years without him, so I kind of think of her as theirs.

However, as I sat in the vet's waiting room with my fingers poking through the carrier bars scratching her worried little head in an attempt to soothe her, she suddenly felt like mine.

And I can't quite get her out of my head.

I'm such a sucker for small things that need me.
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I have now let two two-for-one movie coupons expire.

Good GOD, we need to get out more.
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I was stuck in traffic for a while tonight, and while I was sitting at a very long light (that I didn't make it through the first time), I noticed I could smell a fire.

Fires are nothing but cozy to me, reminding me of chilly fall days at the cottage; my Grandma lighting her prized pot-bellied stove to keep us warm; and the unmistakable smell of Tasso Lake wood being burned on crisp winter nights at the house my Grandparents used to live in once upon a time, just around the corner from ours.

All kinds of cozy.

So I sat there in the car, breathing the smell in deeply.

Until I realized I was at the intersection by the funeral home...that has a crematorium on the property.

I don't know. I just don't know. But I stopped breathing deeply just in case.

I know it's morbid. Really morbid. And I can't help but wonder if only the perpetually bereaved would even think it...
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Tomorrow is February. We'd have been the parents of twins by the end of the month.

But instead, I'm pining over an old cat that doesn't belong to me and going to therapy to sort out 5 years' worth of grief.

'Cause that's fun too.