Everyone is dying and I want to go home.

I talk about death a lot on this blog. I'm sorry.

But today, we're gonna talk less about death and more about the suffering before death, because I feel like that's an appropriate subject.

Jk I'm totally not gonna do that it's just gonna put me in a weird mood. An emo mood. I'll make a MySpace profile and everything.

Anyway, because everything in my life is dying simultaneously, I've lost two long-time pets in the past two weeks. I haven't cried once, but that being said, I haven't cried in a really long time, so I guess that's not that weird.

But Blanchard and Paprika were kind of waiting, I guess. They had topped their lives at age 15, so you can't really be that sad. I think they wanted this. Blanch had a tumor on the side of his face that not only prevented him from eating, but also messed with his bad eye. Paprika just got to the point where she couldn't get up anymore. Death isn't a selfish thing. It would have been selfish for them to stay.

And it's really weird, you kind of miss the dead before they're dead. Disease and suffering changes so much of someone to the point of where they aren't themselves anymore. Paprika stopped wiggling her butt/stub of a tail long before she couldn't get up. Blanchard's purrs were no long rivaled by the aggressive whirr of the vacuum months before he started spending his days in the corner of the bathroom, head cocked to one side to compensate for the weight of the tumor.
 
They were gone long before they died, I guess is what I'm trying to say. I feel like there's a difference between dying and actually being dead. Like, dying is more or less mental, while being dead is like, actually physically dead. I don't know what I just said but it sounds like something out of a seventh grade preteen girl's secret poetry diary, which I totally didn't have when I was that age.

Maybe I'll write a happy post in a few days. Maybe I'll finally make my promised shower-attack post. In the meantime:
@literally everyone. Leave me alone. I don't care. Just walk away. A little further. Little bit more, no, no, to your left. There, that'll work. Stay right there for a while. I don't want to talk to you and I don't care what's going on in your life because mine's a mess right now and I don't care how great you're doing in school or how great your horse is or anything and everything about your love life. I don't care about what you ate for lunch. I don't care about who you ran into at the store. I don't care. Let me watch my small collection of Bill Murray movies in peace. I don't want you anymore.

Paprika and baby Klepto

Blanchard at the top, then Paprika, Blanchard's
brother grey behind her, and Moby at the front.

Godspeed, kids. You did good.