Harlan’s shooting in New York. Correction. He was shooting in New York, a documentary about Tibetan art, and now he’s doing the color correction for a film he shot last summer. In any case, he’s in New York and I’m here in Boston alone with boo. Have I mentioned lately that I don’t know anyone in Boston? So I go for days on end without having any conversation with an adult that’s longer than:
“That was expensive! Oh, guess the crushed ginger cost more than I expected.”
“Mmm. You have to hit debit or credit.”
“Thank you. Have a great holiday!”
I did talk to my landlady for about ten minutes in the entryway the other day. I kept feeling like she wanted to escape but I cornered her, asked her about her New Yorker subscription, her son’s pediatrician, flu shots, the weather, anything to keep her from disappearing up the stairs leaving me with no one but Aidan to talk to again for God knows how many days.
I am lonely here in Boston where I know no one. I am lonely and sad and it is bitter cold.
Did I mention that we’ve been doing a little burst of sleep-training with boo? Harlan was going in at night during the last stubborn 4am waking that Aidan just won’t let go, but now he’s gone so I’m going in and it’s more of a battle, with him sobbing dramatically and pulling at my nightgown, wailing, “More milk! More milk!”
Did I mention that this morning I woke up and Jack had both peed and pooped on the living room rug? The same living room rug we sent out to get cleaned after his last bout of temper tantrums that resulted in his drenching the rug in cat pee. I texted Harlan that I hate Jack and want to get rid of him. I’m completely serious. I don’t think Harlan would consider getting rid of his spoiled, whining, noisy, needy feline, even if he shit on his head.