Make Me Love You:
Public, Part One
Public, Part Two
Private

Something is wrong.

!

Also, my cat is obsessed with the closet in the computer room. She sits in front of it for hours, meowing. She puts her head as close to the door as possible and falls asleep with one ear underneath it. Something is disturbing, and it's in that closet.

She's been in there, she knows that all that's in there is some boxes and a big chest. She doesn't care. She wants in. In. In. In.

The good news is that she's stopped puking. This is good news indeed, because she was going to burn a hole in the hall carpet with her noxious, foul, orangey, hairball-filled hurl.

And, my hair almost killed the vacuum cleaner.

Remember when I told you about how my cat's hair came from its own little corner in hell? Well, folks, I have to admit it. I shed almost as much as Lux does.

There. I've said it. I feel so much better.

It drives Jason nuts. I told him the other day that if we ever split up, I would take Lux with me and he could live in a virtually hair-free environment. He looked all dreamy-eyed for a minute.

I am seriously, horribly near-sighted, on top of having other strange optical and sight-related problems. Basically, my eyes work for shit. So my world is this sort of blobby, soft-at-the-edges, everything runs together sort of place. It's actually sorta comforting, most of the time. Like living in a big cotton ball. And I can't tell if people are looking at me ever, so that helps in that I have way more confidence than I should have, by rights.

But. It also keeps me from realizing when my hair has taken a strangle-hold on the floors in my house. Usually I wait for Jason to politely inform me that there's a carpet emergency.

(Please don't get the impression that my house is dirty. It's really not. It's just really...well, hairy. I mean, I live here. My hair lives here. I can't help it.)

In particular, the area around my bathroom vanity, which is carpeted, soon starts to look like a mass of purply-red SOS pads. Even I can see this, usually, after only a few days.

Yesterday I went into complete cleaning overdrive. I'm not kidding, babies. I was flying. Cooking. Whatever.

As that weird little woman in Poltergeist once said, this house...is clean.

Anyway, I was vacuuming like a hound. I did the hallway, headed into my bedroom, sucked up anything that was unfortunate enough to be found on my floor, did under the bed and behind the door and in all the corners - rrrrrm! rrrrrrrrrm! - but when I rounded the corner into the dressing area, boy, the vacuum gave out the saddest little strangled scream and emitted a smell that I can only guess was its last defense, like a squid shooting out ink. Let me just tell you, it worked. I said something dumb like "Oh, great good moley!" and stopped that puppy posthaste.

I actually felt sort of guilty. I should have warned the poor little guy, or fed the hair into it slowly. My hair was so tightly wrapped around the bristles, I could barely move them. I told my vacuum I was sorry and performed surgery for the next half an hour or so.

You will be glad to know, anyway, that my vacuum is back in action, if a little shell shocked. Its a trooper, I'm telling you. A brave little soldier.

I think that's all I have to say right now...but I'm sure I'll be telling you more about my hair again.

You can't wait. You know you can't wait.

For those of you still left, I love you guys.

-Mlle R