This was originally supposed to just be about my anxieties and hopes for the new year, but a fairly... morbid truth has been brought to my attention. Things just seem to die when I'm around. I try not to think too much on the idea, but it's hard not to when things start being carted off limp. Cosmo was quite possibly the most loving stray you could ever imagine. He was barely out of his kitten stages when he stumbled onto our porch, his hair long, bright and soft. My most prominent memory of the bug is him trying to steal my god damned crackers when I was sick, but eh. He was a part of the family, yeah?
Last night while people were making resolutions, getting drunk, having sex in celebration of the new year, little Cosmo was crushed by some car probably going over fifty down the strip of pavement in front of my place. More than likely, it was one of the many little druggies that like to spill into my neighbor's lot. I think they're moving out soon. That would make me a little less bitter about the natives, I think.
I had left a little note on the whiteboard in our kitchen for my uncle to wake me up before he went to work so I could get a few chores in:
"Your aunt found her cat in the street. Cosmo go hit by a car."
And I went back into my room. To be honest, it felt like a charade making my little 'oh's of surprise, like an act for the no one that could see.
It always feels like that. Whenever something dies, I get all detached and it's like I'm watching myself from the third perspective. I can hear my thoughts; they're all just little calculations of how next I'll move the muscles of my face. It always seems like my "sympathy face" isn't enough. I feel like the people watching me see something false in it. And maybe they do. I wouldn't deny it, I suppose. Or maybe I would. I've never really been cornered and questioned about it so I must be doing something right, hm?
She's so upset.
I think my uncle is bad at taking death too. He's building a model car in the kitchen, mumbling to himself and chuckling at some joke. Sometimes I feel a lot like my uncle. Sometimes. At least he's become more... More active in his family's life since I came. That always makes me happy. Even last night, my aunt told me I was like an inspiration. All I did was sit on my computer and somehow I had inspired my cousin to take his time with his fireworks and actually stay up until New Years. My aunt didn't spend another countdown alone.
She was so lonely.
She didn't know it, I think, but for the longest time, being married to my uncle for twenty years and dating him for ten before that, she was lonely. I wonder if somehow, if I ever obtain that spouse status, will my spouse be lonely too? I'm not exactly attentive. Heh. But most of the attention where I would matter would be in the bedroom, right? -u- I should stop dwelling in that mindset, I know, but it's hard not to. When I skip that little aspect of marriage, my brain goes to work in the kitchen and cleaning. I suppose I'll be good in that area too. But, then again, so is my aunt and she's currently weeping for one of her precious, furry little friends.
And so, in rolls the new year.
I'm eighteen, everyone! Finally legal~! I'll have to be sure that that little bit of information stays out of certain people's ears. But as far as you guys, eh, who gives a poo. What were your new year's resolutions, readers? Or didn't you have one? I just sort of pulled one out of my ass at last minute. Eh. I said I wanted to finish some works, put 'em up for display in parts. Y'know. /points to poll. I'd probably end up writing smut, since it sells so well and it's so easy to write. Yay catering to fetishes!
Alright, my little window of time to write has run out.
Question of the Day: Would smut be a good idea? Like Romance novels only... better? And for both genders?