Oh, we got a new pet! Her name is Loona.
She came into our family at the beginning of July when my aunts and grandmother threw a little baby shower for me. The women of the family were able to pool together enough funds to purchase my beautiful new rocking chair as well as a stroller. And as if that generosity wasn't enough, they let me keep the balloons!
Balloons are like owning goldfish. Most of them die with in a few days. Except one. Loona. She floated by the ceiling in the spare room for a couple of weeks before she was brave enough to come down a little. When she did she became quite social. One early morning as I rolled out of bed to use the. . . facilities. . . I was scared stiff by Loona moving in the dark in front of the bathroom door. I sidestepped her wondering how she got there and proceeded with my morning routine. I left the bathroom and headed into the kitchen for a bowl of cereal. Loona was now in the living room. I peered down the hall into our bedroom to see Paul wheezing and fast asleep. Who was moving this crazy balloon? I walked back into the kitchen and nearly tripped over her floating figure.
Apparently, I have a needy balloon.
I allowed her to follow me around all morning, long after Paul left. She kept me company as I did laundry and washed dishes. She watched my favorite cooking show with me. She got on my nerves when I tried to check the mail and I banished her to the spare room once again where she floated around in circles angrily.
We have a complex relationship.
One night I was awoken by a banging noise. The blinds over the back window were clanking against the metal frame as the wind picked up and died down. I stumbled into the room, closed the window and turned to leave. Loona floated right into the doorway. Keep in mind that at two o'clock in the morning everything is creepy. Even a polka-dot baby balloon. I jumped out of my skin, kicked her into the hallway and flung myself into my bed. The excess adrenaline made sleeping difficult for some time.
She was there the next morning, sitting outside the bathroom door, waiting for me appoligetically.
I forgave her. She's too cute to stay mad at for long.
Alas, I also have some sad news. She is getting old. A month in balloon years is like 97.36 in human years and she'll have to be put to sleep soon. She's no longer mobile and I'm pretty sure she's incontinent.
Paul and I will miss you very much. R.I.P. LOONA.
P.S. Paul wanted me to post something I wrote at the beginning of March but never finished. He says it's significant now. You'll find out why later this month.
Today as I sit in my living room I realized the reason for my recent sorrow that has drug me through this past month. I was wishing my life away again. I say again because it's one of my pet sins. I just keep going back to that vomit of a feeling for reasons I don't yet understand or at least don't want to face. But right now I feel some peace as I listen to the kitchen faucet drip rhythmically. That noise has been my constant companion since April, 2009. When I'm too far from the kitchen to hear the ticks of the water hit the metal sink I can still be soothed by the tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap of minerally water from the leaky bath tub faucet. And you wanna know what?
I'm gonna miss that someday. I really think I will.
Drip on, faucet. Drip on.