Insulation

“That didn’t work.” I said as I descended the stairs behind my dog and cat.

“Shocked.” Friend mumbled – she’s been up for hours, poor thing. I found her on the couch when I shuffled down the hall this morning. “Such a good plan.”

“It was a good plan.” I defended softly. “Freaking insulation.”

I believe there are birds in my attic. I can hear them – chirping and scratching with their little birdy feet. I thought that Chienne could scare them away (preferably before they scared her back down the stairs) or if they refused to budge, Sprout could attack.

Chienne entered first – the attic air cold but not painfully so. I closed the door after her – personally afraid of the flying creatures. But then I felt bad and peeked in to find her regarding me with some confusion. Sprout had been waiting patiently behind me, and upon seeing the door finally open, he decided to charge in. He found himself on the unfinished floorboard and paused to look around.

The birds were silent – I didn’t see any of them – and in his search Sprout decided to hurl himself into the fluffy pink mounds of insulation.

“Oh, no.” I said. “That’s fiberglass.” Then I paused to think. “Well, I think it’s fiberglass. Regardless, it’s not for kittens to play in.”

I reached to grab him by his scruff, lifting him enough that I could slide a hand under his belly and retrieve him from his cloud of danger.

“Friend!” I called, hoping for help and receiving none when I heard the birds move again, “I’m scared!”

Brushing off Sprout’s stripey coat, I put him down so he could descend the steps behind Chienne. She remained befuddled as to what we were doing all along, but her collar jingled happily as she wandered back to the main level of the house.

So there are still birds in my attic, Sprout his now painfully eager to get in that room again and Chienne is whining for her morning walk. Life is generally as it should be.

I’ve started working more – a lot more, actually, in my plan to transport Friend to and from campus on some days.

“I’m building up stamina.” I bragged as we headed toward my car last night a little after 6. We’d arrived around 9:30 that morning. “I’m not particularly tired or achy! I am hungry though.” I decided. “But I’m otherwise good!”

“I think I’m losing stamina.” She decided. And though I frown in worry – then and now – I think she’ll get it back soon. Working through the hard part – making progress and doing experiments and showing up in the lab – can be excruciating. And she’s doing that successfully, so I daresay I’m optimistic about her professional future, though I realize her present is less than ideal.

She went back to bed moments ago and I hope she’s sleeping peacefully. I need to brave the cold to walk my dog. Then get ready for work, though I’d rather stay home and read. The interesting thing is that though I don’t really want to go in, it doesn’t hurt to do so. The strange urge to huddle in my home – warm and safe and useless – has eased. I can go to work. I’ll allow people to talk to me, sometimes enjoy the interaction even. I can sigh over problems, yet not feel crushed underneath them. I can feel annoyance without being consumed by helpless rage. I’m leveled out, I think. Insulated from the worst part of the depression by those little pills I take each night. And it’s really, really lovely.

It doesn’t make for excellent blog posts lately though. I’ll have to work on that.