Fifty Feet

I am a bit OCD. I have a cat named Esmerelda, or at least I think I do...

Thursday, June 30, 2005


I am still trying to cope with the reality of the fact that there was no cat. Each day passes and I realize that I am indeed a little crazy. I sit in the morning in my lavender robe eating my honey bunches of oats, drinking my coffee, and staring out the window. When I am done I wash my cereal bowl no less than 86 times. I then wash the spoon 43 times or more. I wear gloves because I wash my hands so much that if I didn't wear gloves while washing the dishes I would have seriously dried out hands. Or, I would have dried out hands if I didn't use lotion on them for two complete hours after washing my hands 150 times.

Even now just thinking about washing my hands is almost erotic. I can feel the warm water, the lemon scented soap, the way the water sounds when it splashes into the sink. It really is disgusting when I think about it.

My husband ignores me most of the time when I am in a real OCD fit. He just lets me count all of the dishes in the cabinets over and over. Each day I count 22 plates, 46 cups, 24 bowls, 57 pieces of tupperware, 24 saucers, 3 tea pitchers, and 50 tupperware lids.

Sometimes I sit in a room and I count for no reason at all. Sometime I count the number of hairs on my arm, or the number of wrinkles on the back of my hand.

Why do I do this? Is it to keep my mind occupied? Is there something lurking in my past that is so horrific that I count in order to keep from dealing with it?

I don't know, but right now I find solace in the consistency and reliability of numbers.

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Esmerelda - My Cat is Acting Funny.

Lately I have this strange feeling that my cat is more than just a cat. Is that weird? I sense from her an aura that is not unlike the feeling I felt when I was at church and the pastor performed and excorcism and I could actually feel an opression in the room for a few minutes afterward.

My cat is black with unnaturally blue eyes. I got her from an old lady in my apartment complex that died one year. The cat just showed up on my door while her son was packing out all of her things. At the time I felt sad for it and I fed it some milk and now I have had her for about 6 years.

Esmerelda is my cats name. She likes to drink milk, hot milk or cold milk, it matters not to her. Lately she has taken to meowing in the wee hours of the night and I feel that her mewls are something more than the normal cries of a cat, they are something darker, something more sinister. I actually feel that she may be channeling some sort of supernatural demon or an alien from another planet. I know it sounds crazy, but you haven't seen Esmerelda in action. She stares out the window and the sounds she makes are so consistent, the pattern is so much like the patterns of human speech that I am drawn to the conclusion that she is indeed talking to something otherworldly.

The other day I walked in on her during one of these chat sessions and I could swear that she gave me a "Go to hell" look that made my blood run cold.

I used to be a psychologist until I got married and now recently I have been seeing a therapist for a basket load of my own problems. I have been on both sides of the couch and through some serious self-diagnosis I have determined that perhaps I am imagining that the cat is communicating to things spiritual or alien.

This morning I awoke to find Esmerelda missing. There was spilled milk on the floor and believe it or not the shape that the spilt milk took looked as if it spelled something in another language but I couldn't make out the words. As I looked closer it appeared to read, "Don't Cry".

I caught myself trying to stifle a chuckle. Was this some sort of sick joke? "Don't Cry" Don't cry over spilt milk? Was my cat playing mind games with me?

When my husband got home I told him about the milk, about the cat and the chat sessions and he looked at me puzzled as if Esmerelda herself had gotten his tongue. In a strange voice he said, "Honey, we don't have a cat."

His words were like smelling salts and suddenly I felt alive and awake - like someone who had just snapped out of a hypnotic slumber. I looked around and suddenly I felt so old. I ran to the bathroom and I felt as thought I had aged 5 years. I asked my husband the date and the time and he said, "It's 6:30 on a Monday night, it's the year 2005."

My heart stopped. I ran to the mirror and looked at my face, 5 years had aged it tremendously, I felt like part of my life had been stolen. With a sudden clarity I knew that Esmerelda had somehow stolen my life from me. How could it have been possible? And what am I supposed to do now?

Back That, Back That!

I created this blog because I need my own space to say what I feel like. It seems that everyone these days is talking about blogging and so I decided that this will be a great way for me to share some of my thoughts, my hopes, my dreams, and the fact that I am OCD and so I have to have some sort of outlet. Do not be surprised if you see me posting here multiple times a day. I would not even be surprised if you find me posting to around 100 to 200 times daily. I just can't help myself. Then, all at once, I will be bored with you. The red will be off the candy as they say. I will have used you up, hollowed you out, devoured you, and then I will cast you off like an unnecessary cast or a dirty shirt. You will go in the trash never to be used of, or thought of again.