I only cried twice at work yesterday. I feel proud of myself considering that I wanted to do it more often. It's strange -- I've had family and friends die, move away, leave me, stop wanting to be my friend... yet the mere thought of a tiny little furball dissolves me to mush. I can honestly say I can't remember the last time my heart was broken. I picked up her ashes last night and she now sits on my bedside table, so that I can say good night before I go to sleep and good morning when I wake up. The one thing I did yesterday is research how to be a foster parent for animals in the event I want to take on this responsibility again.
Today -- today it was sunny and hot. So, I took a full hour lunch and went outside. I drove around for a little bit and then sat in my car, listening to some station that was playing Eagles and Kansas and other 70s mellow tunes. Elton John's Tiny Dancer was on last and that song stuck in my head all afternoon.
Tomorrow - I have another therapy session. Should be interesting "Hi Doc. I still hate my job and oh, my cat died. Let's talk about all of the help you think I need to learn how to cope and say no."
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