obsessed

need.

http://www.spelldesigns.com/wp-content/uploads/COIN-RING-EAGLE-0017b-56x84.jpg

Birthday!

My birthday is in less than a month and this is my wishlist!

autumnal aura

LOVE

My cat and I are in love. I'm obsessed with the little baby sawyer, and I'm certain he is obsessed with me. I am certain because he greets me at the door when I get home, sleeps with me, cuddles me, purrs in my ear, and follows me around. We have become even closer in the last week, and I know why. My kitten and I are both separated from our loves. Sawyer and Lemon were litter brothers, adopted at the same time by my former roommate and I. They were recently separated. In a perfect world they would both be with me, but Lemon's mommy loves him and wants him with her. Sadly, the two boys, inseparable for the first 6 months of their lives must now brave the world alone. No one to snuggle with ,or play with when Mumma (me!) is at work, and no one to help clean the hard to reach places, or take naps with in the sun. I understand how my little Sawyer feels. My love lives far away. He studies biology and is almost finished with his degree. We have hope to be together again soon, and we visit frequently. Baby Sawyer may never be close with his brother again. I'm sorry Baby! It is love that has complicated this all. But, I promise I will love you forever, and at the very least, I will never separate from you. <3

sawyer and mark

meows in love

guilty

chowtime

meow

i hate

BEING POOR

.just.saying.

All the Dead Dears

In the Archæological Museum in Cambridge is a stone
coffin of the fourth century A.D. containing the skeletons
of a woman, a mouse and a shrew. The ankle-bone of the
woman has been slightly gnawed.

Rigged poker -stiff on her back
With a granite grin
This antique museum-cased lady
Lies, companioned by the gimcrack
Relics of a mouse and a shrew
That battened for a day on her ankle-bone.

These three, unmasked now, bear
Dry witness
To the gross eating game
We'd wink at if we didn't hear
Stars grinding, crumb by crumb,
Our own grist down to its bony face.

How they grip us through think and thick,
These barnacle dead!
This lady here's no kin
Of mine, yet kin she is: she'll suck
Blood and whistle my narrow clean
To prove it. As I think now of her hand,

From the mercury-backed glass
Mother, grandmother, greatgrandmother
Reach hag hands to haul me in,
And an image looms under the fishpond surface
Where the daft father went down
With orange duck-feet winnowing this hair ---

All the long gone darlings: They
Get back, though, soon,
Soon: be it by wakes, weddings,
Childbirths or a family barbecue:
Any touch, taste, tang's
Fit for those outlaws to ride home on,

And to sanctuary: usurping the armchair
Between tick
And tack of the clock, until we go,
Each skulled-and-crossboned Gulliver
Riddled with ghosts, to lie
Deadlocked with them, taking roots as cradles rock.

-sylvia plath