Denial

The bunny was dead.
The cat was carrying it in its mouth the way it does kittens.
Normally, I like cats.
This time, not really.
My only hopes were that the bunny had already been dead when the cat picked it up.
The only thing I could be glad about was that I didn't see it in a semi-masticated state.
It would probably make me hate cats, regardless of Patches.
The bunny was still whole and cute, just dead.
The cat was very cute too, black with a white sock on its front paw.
The only uncute thing was it had a dead bunny in its mouth as it ran across the dump site.
The single sock flashing as the dead bunny swung about.
It was the first time that I had seen a dead bunny.
They are normally alive and bounding across grass patches, nibbling on shoots and chasing one another.
I am sad.
It is not that time of the month.
It is not hormones.
It is just that dead bunnies make me sad.
Even if they feed cute cats.
Maybe it isn't even about bunnies.
Maybe it's because I can't just call you to tell you I saw a cat carrying a dead bunny in its mouth.
And that seeing the dead bunny made me sad.

Maybe the cat was taking a bunny friend that fainted to the secret animal ER which is behind the second bin to the right. 
That sounds better.
I think I'll go with that one.

Having babies

A friend of mine recently brought a baby into this world. She is stressed out, a tad cray-cray and emo from postpartum depression, and pooped out as hell from the time it takes to care for a new being. Her fucktard husband tells her that giving birth is normal, and she shouldn't "exaggerate as though she's the only one going through pain and depression" (strictly his words). How difficult is it for the jerkwad to get that she needs support and love, not to be told the equivalent of "suck it up and shut the fuck up"?!
Personal opinion obvs but past the point of spermination males need to roll with the blows. It's the price they may need to pay for skipping out on having swollen -painful- boobs, for not feeling pukey/ gassy/ bloated/ shitty, for not needing to share their body and its resources, for not getting stretch marks and back aches, for not needing to run to the loo a gazzilion times, not to mention the insane bombardment of hormones required to support another life form. You deal with the madness because you're part of the reason for it okay? Changing diapers/ feeding the bundle of joy/ bathing it once in a blue moon should not earn you brownie points because you ought to be doing some of that stuff anyway! Hug your damn wife, let her rage at you, seek professional help if it gets out of hand but neverbloodysay that she should just get over it because that is just not going to help.

A strange correlation

Every time I cry -not tearing, but full on snotty nosed bawling- my armpits perspire profusely (with deodorant use mind you).
So on top of having to deal with a leaky nose and puffy eyes, the scent of misery enfolds my being. Sadness tastes strange but not unpleasant. The metallic tang with its bitter-sweet note. A symphony of revolt from multiple sensory modalities.

Tell me again

How is it that two pretty nice people bring out the worst in one another?