life and death

Today I picked up the remains of my cat that died in a hospital much nicer than any people's hospital--brick walls, a wire sculpure of a mermaid hanging from the ceiling and color coded files. Paloma was in a cherry wood box with a gold lock and key, died a year ago and four days.

Then I went to visit my friends in the hospital that had a baby yesterday. He's the tiniest human I've ever seen. Looked up at me with a peaceful, disgruntled seriousness. Made sounds not unlike a cat, actually.

One friend told me she made a life plan for me--to live upstate with a gay man and have a baby. Another friend says don't give up on the old fashioned love thing yet. You have a lot to offer someone normal who wants what you want. You just look in the wrong places.

Meanwhile, traffic on 280 continues out my window. Sounds like deep sighs, like ocean and air. People driving around and around in metal boxes, going home to look at screens, maybe hold someone, breathe.