Woke up convinced that the cat is sleeping on my face again.
He wasn't, he was curled up happily in the pit of my stomach, purring like an industrial strengh vibrator with an unlimited battery supply.
My face was another story, and my system is now pumped full of sinus-related goofballs.
The cat, however, only stayed down the thirteen seconds it took for me to push my sweaty ass out of bed and head for the drugs.
Now he's racing around me in circles, bringing me stuff to throw for him again and again and again and agaiiiiiiin...
The energy levels of this cat are far above normal even for the irritating yappy dog he is convinced he should have been born as.
Do neutered cats still go into heat?
If he starts humping my leg then Mapie and I are going to have a serious talk about pawning off horny cats on your best friend.
As for this cold, I'm all for sharing everything between partners, and some romantic part of me is trying to convince myself that coming home with David's cold might make his either easier to bear, or at least bring us slightly close in the ethereal plane on some cosmic level.
Alright, that's flakey even for me, but when Crystal called yesterday to ask me to hang out on Saturday afternoon, just us, calling me personally for the first time to do something other than join the party...
...it's a big step towards becoming fast friends rather than party acquaintances, and after the talks we had in her kitchen whilst attempting to figure out how to chop this or that vegetable for a raclette (she paid me the hugest compliment in buying the same supplies as I had at the last party) we're both feeling an intellectual connection beyond "yeah, New Orleans is sinking and there are some damned fine men there"...
So when I turned her down saying "I've love to tell you to meet me at 14h at the corner of some grand �glise, but I'm not sure I'll be up for it..."
It, well, y'know, kinda sucked.
One moment Seb and Mapie are warning me that the girl who's taking us out to the theatre is kinda difficult to get along with, and the next the two of us are giggling like maniacs trying to convince them to try the tapas at this spanish gay bar, or to sing that particularly vivacious song about "La grosse bite a dudule" which is really QUITE excellent and I have on mp3 if you would like to hear it.
In any case, we went from talking about our favourite bars on decatur street (Billy and Marquis, if I haven't thanked you again for giving me a connection to this girl by having been such WONDERFUL hosts, I am now) where she'd worked for the six months she was escaping Paris, to discussing why we've outgrown promiscuous sex and the pangs that go with them, and why a home is so much more a home when you can properly make people feel welcome in it.
So I feel rotten at having missed this chance to grow even closer, but there should be more to come, no matter how bumbling I sounded on the tellyphone.
Y'know, I kinda like this awkwardness about making friends - I guess I'm finally in the place where I can allow myself to care what other people think without it being a major blow to my self-confidence.
Sometimes self-consciousness is okay. I think.
I'm learning.
And despite all this talk, I still feel as though I'm petsitting two cats - the one up my nose and the one still dropping projectiles in my lap.