Since I knew that the Rhode Island Supreme Court lead paint ruling wouldn't be until this Tuesday or Wednesday, I assumed I could climb into myself and hang out in sad feelings.
Two years ago on June 30th my dog Molly Mittens died of congestive heart failure. The vet gave her 24 to 36 months. She only got 26 of those. So I felt we were both cheated. She was the first creature, even among my other dogs, who loved me as much or more than I loved her.
The pet medium Lisa Greene I consulted said Molly Mittens was no longer in pain and that she hung on longer than she was supposed to because she knew I'd be lost without her. She was right. Of course, I feel guilty for not letting her go. That was a hot summer and she was having a rough time breathing.
Well, there was no climbing in for me. A client, a noted attorney, had two assignments for me. Of course, he gave a mixed message: No deadline but these are topical. I could feel him breathing down my neck all the way from his office on the Left Coast. The work got done. It always does. And I earned a nice wad of money. But the depressive I am always prefers the sad default. In my family, it's an art form.
Comments