Hello lurkers, how’s life? Here in the land of wooden shoes the weather’s been quite sunny. I’ve skipped the morning because I had a hard time letting go of all that the internet had to offer me last night. Thank goodness I called the call center yesterday and informed them that I was not able to attend the other course, which is planned today.

I’m aware that work is work. I’m aware that there are probably worse jobs on the planet. I’m aware that in this day and age, with the line-up for foodstamps and wellfare requests is still growing and companies going bankrupt, I should feel “lucky” to have found any job at all. But I was just not into it; to sit there at another course and learn new tricks on “how to trick people into buying stuff from you through the phone”. Especially not, since there are too many uncertainties revolving around the call center itself.

And just with my luck, I actually had good excuse to postpone my date with the money-grubbing-bastards of telemarketing. Yesterday I was going through the test the company had emailed me to take, when the mail dropped onto my doormat. Figuring I could use a break and another mug of coffee, I picked up the envelopes and several leaflets and bogus newspapers off the doormat. As I returned to the livingroom, I filtered what I wanted to throw out. Then, I stumbled upon a bill. It was the bill for Queen Mashimaro’s cremation. My heart stopped for a moment. That dreadful Sunday afternoon when my little fluffball died in my arms flashed in front of me. As if it had only happened yesterday.

Queen Mashimaro died. It’s been weeks since her death. The bill for her cremation reminded me that it wasn’t even that long ago. Just a few weeks had passed since she died on me like that. For some reason I just couldn’t stop crying. I felt like a failure for not being able to help her. For not being able to reach the vet in time. For not being able to do anything but hold her, until her spirit had departed her fragile little body.

It reminded me of Queen Snoopy’s death. Mashimaro’s mother. What grief I was in when she died a few years ago. I did not allow myself to mourn, I just worked several extra shifts at the factory I worked at back then, just to be able not to think of what had happened. But I was kidding myself, because whenever I returned home and passed the empty place where her cage used to stand, my heart would break again and again. Yesterday my heart was still sore, apparently. Sore from the realisation that little Mashimaro won’t come back.

In tears, I dialed the number of the call center yesterday. I told the I wasn’t emotionally stable to attend any of their courses or projects for the next days. When they asked why I told them a child close to the family had passed away. And in all honesty, it wasn’t a lie. Mashimaro was my baby girl.

I… Was going to write something else but somehow ended up rambling on and on about Mashimaro. I’m sorry.

Have a good day.

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