mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

  • Mood:


The bunny is dead. The beautiful brown bunny I've been trying to coax to safety was lying dead outside my gate this morning. I've cut out my rant against cat owners here, as it was neither charitable, nor free of rich curses (J’accuse!). My poor, beautiful brown bunny. I bawled at the bus stop, I wept on the bus, I've gone through a box of tissues at my desk. I feel so hideously responsible, if I'd only tried harder, been quieter, I could have coaxed him to me and kept him safe. Woulda coulda shoulda.

I'm cold, ill tired crampy and heartbroken. It's not a good day, for all it's prettiness. Bunny burial tomorrow.

And now I feel even worse. Forty minutes after bawling my brains out over bunny trauma and I'm laughing out loud over rude comments made by a friend over the efficiency of a breadknife vs Blake blubber, re Torchwood.

Still, it helps. I've cried my eyes out, blown my nose, been sick, made a cup of tea and we're feeling a bit better. We have happy disks of Spooks (thankyou!) and I found some 60s Xmas paper in my desperate search for birthday cards.

Would be even better if my ratty old PC wasn't playing up. Nothing like wanting to go home early to make a PC play up and inboxes overflow with 4.15ers.

Last night I just watched Jericho. I know, why? Why? I ask myself this. I was bemused by DB Sweeney turning up, though, just seconds before I was thinking it was turning into Harsh Realm. Recycled tv? At least it's green, I guess.

Didn't get home late so there was nothing else watched, and attempts at fic were sadly incoherent (ditto this morning and that was pretty much my window, shot).

Ack. Just had a salient lesson, one of those good smacks across the jaw, teaching me not to leave things to the last minute. Was meant to be having a b-day dinner with friend, so I thought I'd go shopping tomorrow (in my defence, I've been wretched of late). Then they email, moving it to lunch (ie, had a better offer). Ack. So I had to rabbit run down to the shops to pick something up before they shut, then come back and finish my Friday night specials.

Perhaps I shouldn't use the word rabbit, lest I get all teary again. Poor bunnykins. I'm not usually this soppy at all, so we'll blame the hormones. It's kinda like that episode of MASH where poor Margaret finally breaks down and sobs over a little puppy getting run over. Last straw kinda thing.
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