Something always takes the place of missing pieces you can take and put together even though you know there's something missing.

My relationship with Uma was fortuitous. I always loved cats, but my previous attempt at taking care of one myself ended after less than a month and some deep scratches and bites. I tried re-adopting the Evil Cat again, only to be told that my dad chose to keep her. That cat found a better home and I found quick healing solutions, after I had moved into pet-friendly housing.

When my sketchy neighbors told me they adopted two kittens from the side of the road, I was a little leery. Their other cat was mangy, friendly, and with a clinically broken tail. Though I've always been an advocate for the less fortunate, I wasn't really an advocate for adopting pets from them. Then I met Uma and Oprah.
They were teeny tiny and more than a handful of trouble. Uma shed more than any cat I've ever seen, plus she threw up more than once a week on average. She was aloof to everyone other than men who were allergic to her and women who despised cats. To me, she was my sheep. She followed me around and wouldn't let me sit down peacefully before jumping into my lap. She was much more loving and attentive than her sister (if only to me and my mom, who wasn't a fan of hers), and because of her social issues with other people, she became my only cat in Portland as I adjusted.
Since then, she's been in three different houses with different animals. I've been blessed that the last house she lived was one in which she found her best friend, Arlo, and a new human friend, Jude. I'm not sure how she contracted the evil that is feline leukemia, but I can't blame anyone, especially myself.
What is important is that Uma lived a full, happy life with a person who loved her and who she loved in return. I'm going to miss her excessive shedding, her excessive yet timely vomiting, her judgment of people, her unending loyalty, her helpful lap sessions whenever I was reading, and her species-free friendship. Uma, you can never be replaced or forgotten.

Here is a blog I wrote about Uma several years ago: http://bitter-britter.blogspot.com/2006/05/im-little-too-obsessed-with-my-cats.html

We're onto your same old trick

I think that the media is odd. You'd think that I, a person who tries to read several newspapers per day, majored in communication, and watches a tremendous amount of PBS, would have sympathy for the media. Wait...PBS? I'm jaded as a result of that. Nix that one.
I am amazed at what different people read. And I'm happy that my generation is leading the way for short attention span news. On Twitter, I get real-time headlines that are just that: headLINES. I am bombarded with information by the BBC that is short, sassy, and informative. What happened to information and taking one's time doing anything?
And what's the harm in losing that?
I have an attention deficit. I enjoy technology. I love knowing what's going on in real-time in completely different parts of the world. I love government news, political news, and pop culture news. I can't get enough of information.
And I love things that are fast moving. Like, wait, is that a kitty?

I don't want to wake up on my own anymore

I've struggled with insomnia for as long as I can remember. I have strong memories of being awake for long periods of time as a child. My parents, who weren't exactly narcoleptic, went to sleep before 9:00 and did not understand why, at ten years old, I'd get up at around 11:00 p.m. to read, walk around the kitchen, or shower.
Reason: because I was weird.
Well, not really. I know insomnia is common. Unfortunately, as an adult, I have worse bouts with the affliction because I wake up too early or in the middle of the night. Today, for example, I can sleep in. I LOVE SLEEPING IN! But here I am typing this, and it's only 7:00 in the a.m.
Damn you, sheep!

There's nothing I hate more than nothing

I love Woody Allen. Filmmaker Woody Allen, not pedophile-stepdaughter-marrying Woody Allen. Most of the people I've talked to related to the character of Annie Hall, a free-spirited lady who is trying to find her way through the world, especially through the men she dated.
Not me. I related to Woody's character, a man who is neurotic in a way in which I could relate. I felt even worse after watching Hannah and Her Sisters, where he played another neurotic character (Woody's not known for his acting range) who suffered from serious hypochondria. I don't have hypochondria; I usually venture on the "I'll-just-fight-it-off" side of the spectrum. However, I do have an ongoing internal monologue going on in my head. For example, I just had to stop typing to figure out a way to end that second sentence in a non-preposition, and then I had to count sentences to figure out which one it was.
So, where was I?
I've been back in Albuquerque for almost two years. This is the first time I've ever been relaxed in life. It's startling. Ever since I was a kid, I've obsessed with the future. Not so much anymore. I'm starting to hear that internal monologue again, but this time, it's arguing with itself:
"I should be concerned about law school."
"It's probably good that I'm relaxed about the future. This is normal right?"
"If you don't start thinking about the future now, you'll be caught off guard, and we know how you like that."
"Who was that actress in 'Small Wonder'? Was she in anything else?"
I think I'm happy with the indecisiveness. I've always thrived on it, and this time it's a good thing. Just like the end of Hannah and Her Sisters, as explained by none other than Woody Allen.

Mickey: One day about a month ago, I really hit bottom. Ya know I just felt that in a Godless universe I didn't wanna go on living. Now I happen to own this rifle, which I loaded believe it or not, and pressed it to my forehead. And I remember thinking, I'm gonna kill myself. Then I thought, what if I'm wrong, what if there is a God. I mean, after all nobody really knows that. Then I thought no, ya know maybe is not good enough, I want certainty or nothing. And I remember very clearly, the clock was ticking, and I was sitting there frozen with the gun to my head, debating whether to shoot. All of a sudden the gun went off. I had been so tense my finger squeezed the trigger inadvertantly. But I was perspiring so much the gun had slid off my forehead and missed me. Suddenly neighbors were pounding on the door, and I dunno the whole scene was just pandemonium. I ran to the door, I didn't know what to say. I was embarrassed and confused and my mind was racing a mile a minute. And I just knew one thing I had to get out of that house, I had to just get out in the fresh air and clear my head. I remember very clearly I walked the streets, I walked and I walked I didn't know what was going through my mind, it all seemed so violent and unreal to me. I wandered for a long time on the upper west side, it must have been hours. My feet hurt, my head was pounding, and I had to sit down I went into a movie house. I didn't know what was playing or anything I just needed a moment to gather my thoughts and be logical and put the world back into rational perspective. And I went upstairs to the balcony, and I sat down, and the movie was a film that I'd seen many times in my life since I was a kid, and I always loved it. I'm watching these people up on the screen and I started getting hooked on the film. I started to feel, how can you even think of killing yourself, I mean isn't it so stupid. Look at all the people up there on the screen, they're real funny, and what if the worst is true. What if there is no God and you only go around once and that's it. Well, ya know, don't you wanna be part of the experience? You know, what the hell it's not all a drag. And I'm thinking to myself, geeze I should stop ruining my life searching for answers I'm never gonna get, and just enjoy it while it lasts. And after who knows, I mean maybe there is something, nobody really knows. I know maybe is a very slim reed to hang your whole life on, but that's the best we have. And then i started to sit back, and I actually began to enjoy myself.

Time may change me, but I can't trace time

So, after three years of not updating since no one was reading this and because I became employed, I decided to post a new blog. Also, I found the password. My mistake.

At any rate, I am alive, well, in Albuquerque, and 5'2. More may or may not come.

When you say it's going to happen now, what exactly do you mean?

I received my first job offer today. I spent one full month of applying to non-profit jobs that would fit with my school and volunteer schedule, going to job fairs for coffee shops and retail jobs, and being turned down for all of the above. It was very humbling not to receive phone calls for a second interview for several of those, while I received interviews for jobs I was underqualified for.

Perhaps the message is this: Welcome to Adulthood.

The job seems to be right up my alley. I will think I be working with juveniles who have drug abuse issues (majority of those are meth users), and I'll work with a non-profit agency and the DHS. The downside: the job is an hour away, and I'll have to ride the bus for a long time.

Who would have thought that I would go into a field of addiction counseling and services? I am direct, sometimes tactless, I tend to lose interest in what others are saying, and I consistently have foot-in-mouth disease. However, I am extremely empathetic to these kids who simply don't have resources to quit doing drugs, who are given mixed messages by their parents and families, and who just need someone to care about them and help them in a respectful way. I don't think it's my calling by any means, but it's certainly more interesting than selling pet supplies to rich yuppies or people with dogs as decoration.

Over three weeks of full unemployment and job searches. It's times like these that I miss Albuquerque nepotism.