And this is kinda gross, so if you are eating, you may not want to read on.
You've been warned.
Boyfriend and I went for a walk after work. I had had a shitty day, and it was nice to relax on the bike path. The path went through some wheat fields and meandered near some man-made creeks and canals. The sun was shining and the streams were overflowing.
|I mean seriously, isn't this fucking beautiful?|
Also? The building way the hell out there is a pharmaceutical company that may or may not be responsible for the upcoming zombie apocalypse. Just FYI.
I was taking some pictures of flowers, because I get endless enjoyment out of talking shit to the little showoffs.
Boyfriend laughed every time I did my little "spider dance" as a daddy-long-leg skittered across the hot pavement, and every time I said something like, "Wow, look at that shit! It's so fucking beautiful!"
I was in a cussing mood, and yes, with every f-bomb, I felt a little better.
|Cut your hair you damned hippie!|
On the way back to the cars, we discussed wheat and drainage ditches, flowers, and how carrying a rain jacket is a sure way to make sure that it would never rain again. We passed geese and other chirpy chirp birds, the occasional bicycle rider zoomed by on our left.
I guess what I am saying is that the walk helped. I stopped feeling like I was going to cry from work. I started feeling like life was OK again.
|Wheat? Grass? What, do I look like Farmer Joe to you?|
I tried to hold onto my peaceful calm even though that fucking Subaru cut me off and then slowed down, the little asshole. I didn't honk or scream at him once. I was like, a total Zen-fucking-Master.
A while later, we got stuck when I was following Boyfriend as a train passed. I turned off the car and watched the boxcars roll by. Some of them had some amazing artwork on the sides, and I was determined to enjoy the free vandal art show.
One had fancy letters and the world "Chicago", and I wondered if it was where they were from, where it had been tagged, or maybe someone's "road name" or something (I have been researching a possible career move to riding the rails, and they all get road names apparently).
Another one just looked like random scribbles, followed by "Eat my dick". The handwriting was that of a 6 year old, if they were particularly bad at writing. Little asshole. Can't even make the tag pretty.
Before I had a chance to really stew about it, though, the train ended and we continued driving.
Boyfriend lives in a basement out in the country with his two cats, Tais and George. The cats wander free in the large backyard, and probably range into the nearby horse pasture occasionally as well.
Every week or two, George likes to bring home a present... a half-eaten vole, a bird, a bat. Whatever he gets his greedy little claws on. Cats are built for killing, they have FIVE pointy ends. They are born assassins.
Today was different.
I stood in awe, trying to piece the... pieces... back together in my head. What had it been?
It looked like it had exploded.
"Oh," I said.
He looked. "Yeeesh," he said.
Me: "What was it?"
Boyfriend: "Was it a rabbit?"
Me: "Oh, yeah. That's a bunny ear." (And yes, "Stuck in the Middle" by Stealers Wheel started playing in my head. Just think "The ear scene in Reservoir Dogs". That song.)
Boyfriend went upstairs to get a shovel to clean it up, and I just kind of stood there and stared at all the little limbs. I bent down for a closer look. After a few minutes, I realized that I was looking at part of the head, with one of the ears still attached. The other ear was several inches away.
Over there was the cute little fluffy tail.
I didn't want to know what that weird bratwurst shaped grey organ over there, or that liver-like... uh... liver... uh. Nevermind.
Boyfriend came with the shovel, and tried to shove it under the various pieces in order scoop them into the trash bin.
It seemed to work for a second, picking up bits of bone and the head. But then it just kind of rolled over a piece of fur in a sickening way.
Boyfriend: "I need a stick or something. This won't work."
Me: "I can pick up the pieces." I said it without really thinking about it. I realized I would be fine as long as I couldn't smell anything, and I had plastic of some kind between myself and the bitty bunny bits.
I wrapped my arm in a trashbag, pinched my nose with the other hand, and started. Leg. Leg. Cotton tail. I picked up the head and tossed it quickly as it crossed my mind that I kind of wanted to do a scene from Hamlet with it, and it wasn't appropriate and WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME THIS IS GROSS, WHAT AM I DOING? Yeah, bunny's name is Yorick.
I got most of the things into the trash. I tossed the bratwurst without any trouble. But the liver-thing was still there.
Flattened. Dark red. I closed my eyes for a moment, grabbed and tossed.
It was squishy an cold, and left a blood stain on the carpet.
I tore off the bag and walked away, heaving slightly.
"Texture. Not. Good." I managed to say, then started washing my hands, scrubbing furiously.
Boyfriend did the rest once the big bits were all gone.
Yuck. I mean Yorick. I mean. I don't know what to say now.
George came up, wanting to cuddle. Was that carrion on his breath? Yeah, not right now kitty kitty.
Something I have learned about myself today: I don't have a problem picking up cute little half-eaten bunny heads, scattered ears and feet, fluffy tails, and assorted bones, but squishy organs make me heave.
Do you ever do something like this and quietly give thanks to parents that allowed you to watch HBO when you were 6 so that you are thoroughly desensitized to body parts as a grown up, or is that just me?