Late at night and deeply alone

It's ok.

I accept.

I had a family. It was damaged and broken but it was mine. (Probably not ours. I'll never know. I'm more likely to get updates from my dead parents than my gaslighting wife.)

I'm a childless cat lady. I have Ceci and I'm cat sitting for MM. Both are wrapped around me as I doze off.

Ceci is purring as is frequently the case. MM is on his back, extended, a mile long.

I don't know if my anti-depressants are helping. I know I could be worse and frequently have been.

I feel abused and unfairly treated.

I feel worried, about my future alone.

There isn't a lot to distinguish one day from the next. Some work meetings but they don't really matter to me, nor do they make much difference in the great scheme.

That sounds British. Like my dad Allan Foster. From Wednesbury. And Bristol. And Darien. And Schenectady. My dad. With his handsome smile!

I died my hair a little darker last night. Something to do. Light ash brown. A cooler color.

It rained a lot while I worked yesterday afternoon.

Today—who knows what it will do. Or what I should do. Will I be happy with my cats? Will I make them happy? 

 I hope so! I want to very much.