annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary

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Monday night, Tuesday morning

And nothing to say but I’m saying it anyway. I’m doing better without the internet now, even considering not getting it back at all. There is something tempting about returning to a pre-digital existence, though the telly would have to go as well for it really to be effective. I feel as if I have a distraction addiction and like most addicts, I’m failing to control my usage of it. No, that’s not it – all addictions are distractions, surely, distractions from some pain that can’t be faced, and over-use of television and internet is pretty harmless compared to crack or gambling or two bottles of wine a night every night. And these are hard times. I haven’t signed up to some fundamental religious order where I have to go without everything – I’m just trying to grab hold of my life rather than piss it all away watching ‘Come Dine With Me’ and simultaneously following it on twitter.

Things I haven’t seen since I moved include the scary cat Art sent me from Alaska, the green scarf (beautiful, soft, like cashmere) that I bought to wear in a pic in solidarity with a cause I can no longer remember and one of my favourite earrings, also green – why is just one of them in a pot of mixed bits and pieces? Where is the other one?

The bastard cat and I are starting to find a way of living together in our new home. We have a deal. I let her out the back door at night and leave her for a while, turning off both the kitchen and hallway lights on my way back to the front room. When I return, put the lights on and open the door, I expect that cat to be there, or to be audibly on her way, yowling as she crashes up and over the fences. If I have to do more than go, “Pssst!” then she’s had it, she can yell all she likes, but she’s grounded for as many nights as I see fit. It’s been an extended war of attrition to reach this understanding, but it’s been necessary. I can’t hear her from my sofa or my bed until she’s going quite mental, and any of my neighbours with bedrooms at the back of the house might kill her if she keeps that up night after night. I have no intention of spending hours going back and forth between front room and kitchen till she’s ready to come in, nor of standing in the doorway letting all the warm air out, calling a cat who’s bloody ignoring me. I know when she’s ignoring me as it’s almost silent out the back at night and I can hear her as soon as she starts moving. I know she can hear me – I’m an ex-teacher and have a good, carrying voice. This is not a relationship of equals. I’m in charge and if she doesn’t like it she can fuck right off – she has opportunities every day. Can you tell I have to remind myself of this quite often? I sing ‘You’re not the boss of me’ at her, but she doesn’t believe me, I can tell. Bastard bloody cat.

The thing she does that pisses me off the most is come in from outside to shit in the litter tray, but that's enough about the Bobcat.

Laters xxx

3:54 p.m. - 21.02.12

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