I got
three letters in the mail today, which caused great excitement until I realized whom they were from. The first was a simple
bank statement, listing all the transactions in my accounts this past month or two. This is nothing
special, and I immediately threw it into my pile of
semi-important stuff to consider at a later date. The second was a
credit card application, which went immediately into the trash. Well, not immediately. I looked at all the pretty
designs available for teen credit cards, but then overcame my temptation to get one for the pure aesthetic sense of loveliness. The third letter was the
interesting one.
It caught my attention by the name in the return address spot. Mary Bouillion, the chief social worker at the University of Iowa in charge of all EDO patients. I knew her for quite some time. My curiosity was piqued, so I opened the envelope with an open mind, half expecting to find a demand that I return to treatment because they missed me so much. It was just a survey to evaluate the program, asking some vague questions concerning my thoughts on my little vacation down in the lovely state of Iowa during my freshman year. I told the truth. They probably will never send me another survey again.
School was dull.
Work was dull.
While driving home from work, I noticed a lump in the road near the intersection of Lakewood and 152nd. The car in front of me had run over a little kitty cat. I could see it’s eyes, reflecting a bright yellow in my headlights. All I could think of was the poor little girl whose cat was missing, and on her way to school tomorrow morning she’ll find it in the road. I almost cried, and I don’t cry very easily.
When I got home, I took my twelve year old Bean and sat him on my lap for a good long session of quality time. It was good to find him alive and well when I walked through the door. All the attention I was giving Bean made Zoe jealous, so I had to scratch her sagging tummy and give her a treat in order to avoid the high-pitched squealing she considers a meow. Bean sat through all this with the patience of wisdom and the tolerance of years.